


Steadfast

by Snafu1000



Series: 'Moments In Time' Universe [7]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-09
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-13 12:40:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 29,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28653648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snafu1000/pseuds/Snafu1000
Summary: A pre-Inquisition story in the 'Moments In Time' universe, set in the 'Asunder' timeline. After nearly a year apart, Talia and Leliana try to find those behind the attempted assassination of Divine Justinia V. As the world tumbles into chaos, some things remain unbreakable.
Relationships: Female Cousland/Leliana (Dragon Age)
Series: 'Moments In Time' Universe [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/24959
Comments: 2
Kudos: 17





	1. A Warden's Return

"Where is she?"

Her Holiness, Divine Justinia V, opted to ignore the lack of any respectful titles, and the absence of the obeisance that was the norm in those who addressed her. Truth be told, she generally found it tedious and lacking in sincerity, particularly in Val Royeaux, where piety had long since been consigned to the realm of quaintly outdated customs, given lip service by those who played The Game as simply another mask to be worn to conceal true intent. A bit of blunt forthrightness was a refreshing change...and any reprimand would have been ignored by her guest, anyway.

"She is doing the Maker's work," she replied calmly.

Dark eyes regarded her no less calmly. "Your work, you mean."

"It is one and the same." She told herself that daily, and prayed that it was true, _wanted_ it to be true, and that would have to be enough.

"Is it?" Talia Cousland looked almost amused. "Been through the Gauntlet, have you?"

She had not. Few had. The Sacred Ashes of Andraste continued to protect themselves; in the years since the Chantry had taken control of the town of Haven and turned the temple on the mountain above into the holiest site of the Andrastean faith, dozens had attempted to win their way past the spiritual obstacles to view the Urn and its precious contents. Less than a score had succeeded, with the rate of success among the elite of the Chantry embarrassingly low. Most simply emerged frustrated and humbled; a few had resorted to violence, and found that the Gauntlet met force with greater force. Their bodies were burned on a pyre in the town of Haven as a warning to those who thought to use the earthly remains of the Maker's bride to serve their own ends. Still others muttered bitterly after their failure that it was all a fraud, the Ashes false, the Gauntlet the trickery of some maleficar to ensnare the faithful.

The previous Divine, Beatrix III, had not been swayed by such mutterings, but neither had she ever attempted to pass the Gauntlet herself. Part of it was undoubtedly that her advanced age made any such excursions inadvisable, but much of it – most of it – was likely that even with the failing of her mind, she knew, as Justinia now did, that innocence was one of the earliest and bitterest prices that this sacred office exacted from those who held it.

The woman before her had passed the trials of the Gauntlet, seen and touched the Sacred Ashes, but she had never seemed to consider that to mark her as particularly holy (a trait shared by every individual who had succeeded to date). Justinia had asked her about it once, and she had simply shrugged and said that her path and the Maker's will had happened to coincide at the time.

Leliana, though...no matter how unworthy she might think herself, her faith shone like a beacon, and the companions who had passed the Gauntlet with her had all stated unequivocally that it was that faith that had ultimately won them through.

"True faith needs no such proof," she replied simply.

"Be a bit awkward if you tried and failed, too, wouldn't it?" Talia replied with a snort, then shook her head, her eyes growing distant. "Don't feel bad; I doubt that I'd make it through again. My motivations have grown entirely too selfish."

Justinia did not have to ask what those motivations were. While barely out of childhood, the young noble had done more than most managed in a lifetime: killing an Archdemon, ending a Blight and putting down a subsequent uprising of darkspawn in Ferelden. In the years since, she had sought no acclaim, accepted no titles; though she was known as The Warden throughout Thedas, nearly a decade had passed since she had stepped down as Commander of the Grey in Ferelden and walked away from the Grey Wardens, a choice that none could gainsay her after what she had accomplished. As the sister of the King of Ferelden, she had acted as his envoy on occasion, but she bore no trappings of office.

The brash and tempestuous girl that Leliana had first encountered in Lothering had grown into a tall, strong woman: a seasoned warrior known throughout the southern kingdoms whose skills had likewise grown. The legendary starmetal blade remained at her hip, but her shield had been replaced by an axe with a wickedly hooked blade for her off-hand that could either entangle an opponent's weapon or cleave through flesh and bone. Heavy plate armor had given way to dragonhide leather: strong but lightweight and flexible, able to move in near silence and dyed in a mottled pattern of greys designed to blend with the shadows. She had learned the arts of stealth and subtlety, adding the element of surprise to her formidable martial ability.

She had not done it for the Maker, or for Ferelden. She had learned what she needed to learn to allow her to stay at the side of the woman that she loved: the woman that she sought now. For many years after she left the Wardens, the pair had been inseparable, and when Leliana had become the Left Hand of the Divine, the shadow behind the Sunburst Throne, Talia had become _her_ shadow, and if she served the Maker only by proxy, it had not made her blade any less useful to Justinia. Recent events, however, had parted them once more.

"Leliana's duty lies with the Chantry," Justinia told her now. "She has felt your absence keenly." She meant it as a kindness, but the dark eyes hardened.

"I've been putting out fires," the Warden growled, tipping her head toward the window. The movement caused the thin braid at her left temple to sway, the crimson bone bead at the tip glinting in the lamplight, a proud reminder to all that she was also known as _Vachini_ , the She-Wolf of the Otter Clan, battle-sister to the Chasind Wilders. " _Your_ fires, among others."

"Fires started by one of your Wardens," Justinia reminded her without rancor. Talia had largely grown out of her youthful temper, but she was still one for action, rather than talk. She and Cassandra were more alike than either of them cared to admit.

"Anders deserted the Grey Wardens," Talia replied irritably, "after I refused to accept every runaway mage who came to Amaranthine. He hadn't lost his damned mind when I knew him, either." She looked away, guilt casting a shadow over her features. "Maybe if I had tried -"

"It would have come, sooner or later." While not willing to absolve the Grey Wardens of all responsibility for losing control of so puissant a mage, she was a realist. "The repression and abuse of the mages had become too widely entrenched. Such tyranny was never the Maker's plan, and it all but guaranteed that rebellion would arise."

Talia looked back at her with features caught between curiosity and irritation. "If that is how you feel, why don't you do something about it?"

If only it were that simple! "When you were Warden-Commander, why did you not accept every mage who wished to join you? It was within your authority, and they would have made powerful allies."

"And set us squarely against the Chantry," she replied, shaking her head, her expression becoming slightly sheepish. "Same thing for you?"

"Indeed," Justinia replied ruefully. The Chantry had long ago become an institution that was comprised almost as much of politics as religion; the Divines that forgot this generally had very short tenures. "That I can do nothing openly does not mean that I am doing nothing, however." It was not an admission she would make to many, and as she expected, her guest interpreted her words correctly.

"Leliana." The Warden's features hardened again. "Where is she?"

"Where you cannot follow," the Divine told her, adding as her face grew thunderous, "She is due to return soon, however."

"Unless you get her killed on the Maker's business," Talia shot back, glaring at her. "She helped end a Blight, found Andraste's ashes! How much more do you want her to do?"

"That choice is hers," Justinia replied. "She was free to refuse my offer, and she is free to leave my service. She has chosen not to." There was a secret between the lovers; she did not know what it was, but she knew that it lay at the heart of Leliana's acceptance of her role as Left Hand of the Divine. A guilty shadow again passed over the Warden's face, and she turned away, moving to the window and looking out on the city.

"You use her the way that Marjolaine did," she muttered. "What makes you any different?"

"Intentions, I hope," the Divine said. It was a question that she asked herself nearly every day, and that answer was the only one that allowed her what sleep she managed at night.

The Warden snorted softly. "Loghain Mac Tir started out with good intentions."

Another might have taken offense at that, but Justinia V had once been known as Revered Mother Dorothea, and before that...well, suffice it to say that she knew all too well that good intentions could be broken beneath the weight of mortal frailty. She had no illusions of infallibility; she had made mistakes, and lives had been lost as a result, but to do nothing could very well be just as bad or worse. Staying her hand in regards to Kirkwall, allowing Elthina to do nothing but pray for peace, had led to a bloodbath. A single life could be permitted to count for little in the balance against scores, hundreds, or perhaps thousands of lives that could be lost if she made the wrong choices now. Or even worse, perhaps regardless of the choices she made.

"She is very nearly as dear to me as she is to you," she said softly, stepping closer to the younger woman and placing a hand on her shoulder, "and she will be overjoyed to find you returned."

"I didn't want to go," the Warden murmured, the weary sorrow on her face making her look older than a woman who had not yet seen thirty years, "or be gone so long."

"Duty is a harsh taskmaster," Justinia observed, not without sympathy. It had not been on a whim that the Warden had left her lover, though only rumors had made it back to Val Royeaux in the past months as Leliana had discovered – to her mixed pleasure and frustration – that her Warden had learned much from her on how to avoid notice. "The Champion of Kirkwall is well, I hope?"

Dark eyes cut toward her warily. "She is," she replied simply.

The Divine nodded. Those rumors had been true, then. "There is no need for her to hide from the Chantry," she told the other woman. "We only wish to hear her account of events in Kirkwall."

"That may be all that the Chantry wishes," the Warden countered with a shrug, "but the Chantry no longer controls the templars; they're out for blood, and her sister was one of the mages in the Kirkwall circle."

"Grand Cleric Elthina and countless others died in that explosion," Justinia reminded her.

"Anders acted alone," Talia replied sharply. "He wasn't even part of the circle; Devon Hawke executed him and kept the situation from escalating even further."

"We have been unable to form a clear account of what transpired," the Divine admitted ruefully. "The reports from witnesses have been...chaotic, at best."

"If the reports say that Kirkwall's First Enchanter was a blood mage who became an abomination and the Knight Commander was driven insane by some kind of corrupted lyrium, made the statues in the Gallows come to life, then was turned into a statue of lyrium herself, then they square pretty well with what I was told." Talia glanced at her, scowling in disapproval as she nodded her reluctant acknowledgment. "That city was a disaster waiting to happen even without Anders, and all you could do was tell the Grand Cleric to leave?"

Justinia sighed heavily. "I intended an Exalted March; I allowed Elthina to convince me to stay my hand and give her the opportunity to bring things under control."

The Warden shifted to face her, leaning against the window frame and crossing her arms. "That worked out well, don't you think?"

"If you think I don't regret that choice every day, you are wrong," Justinia replied. "If I had known then even a fraction of what I knew now -"

"Was it really so hard to see that people who think they have nothing left to lose will fight?" Talia asked her. "The mages in Kirkwall had been pushed to their limits by the templars, and all the Grand Cleric could do was pray for peace."

"Is that why the Champion sided with the mages?" Justinia wanted to know.

"Is that what your witnesses told you?" Talia asked, then shook her head. "Devon Hawke sided with her sister; nothing more, nothing less. She killed Anders because his lunacy made Bethany a target for templar vengeance, along with every other mage alive. You great leaders in your ivory towers are the ones who are fixated on your grand ideals. Those of us on the ground fight for the ones that we love."

"And yet, you left the one that you love." It was a low blow, and for a moment, the Divine thought that it might have been the wrong tactic. Talia's eyes blazed with anger, but the flames subsided quickly.

"I pay my debts," she declared tersely. "Isabela asked for my help in getting Hawke and her companions to a place of safety. I wasn't about to force Leliana to choose between you and me, so I went alone."

"She understood that," Justinia told her gently, trying to soothe the wound she had inflicted. "She has been worried about you, though. Your elusiveness surprised her."

A faint smile touched the Warden's lips. "She taught me well."

"That she did," the Divine agreed. "So...you escorted the Champion and her comrades out of Kirkwall and helped them resettle elsewhere." She cocked her head, sorting through the rumors that had reached her ears. "Seheron, perhaps?"

Genuine amusement lit Talia's face, briefly driving back the weight of care and the years it had added to her features. "Is that where you have Cassandra looking?" she asked with a chuckle. "Maker, she's going to be surly when she gets back. No, that's not where they are. I honestly don't know where they're at." She shrugged. "I won't lie to Leliana, and Bela knows that. I left them in Llomerryn, but I can promise you that they're nowhere near there by now. Seheron was..." She glanced away, grim sorrow touching her features, "another matter entirely."

Disquiet rippled through Justinia's breast. "Are the Qunari preparing to invade, then?" With the current chaos, the nations of the south would be easy pickings for the horned giants.

Talia shook her head. "Not yet," she replied.

Not the most reassuring of answers. "But soon?" the Divine persisted.

The Warden's lips quirked into a wry smile. "Define 'soon'. The Qunari don't think the way we do. Their leaders aren't driven by personal glory and ambition, but by the demands of the Qun. When the Qun demands it, they _will_ come, but that might be a hundred years from now. Maybe more."

"Or it might be tomorrow," Justinia guessed.

"Possible," Talia conceded, "but unlikely. They're still fighting the Tevinters for control of the northern lands; they are not going to abandon that fight, or weaken themselves by opening another front in the south. The attack on Kirkwall was a product of circumstance, not a declaration of war. As long as you don't intend another Exalted March on them, they should stay out of our business."

"Thank the Maker for small mercies," she murmured. Now she only had to worry about the mage rebellion, the renegade templars, the elven uprising and the possibility of Orlais flaring into civil war.

Talia regarded her with knowing eyes. "Not that we don't already have enough trouble, yes?"

She arched an eyebrow. "We?"

One shoulder lifted, lowered. "I haven't always agreed with your methods, but at least you are trying to do something. Leliana is loyal to you, and I go where she goes." A pointed look. "At least, I will when you tell me where she is."

"As I told you, I cannot," Justinia replied. "Her task is not particularly dangerous, but it would be noticed, were you to attempt to join her, and _that_ could be dangerous. You are far from unknown, my dear, and your ties to Ferelden could send the wrong message at a delicate time."

"Empress Celene," Talia guessed. Correctly, though Justinia would neither confirm nor deny it. "The world teeters on the brink, and Grand Duke Gaspard proposes to address it by declaring war on Ferelden." She shook her head, her disgust plain. "I'd say to let him come, but we really don't have time to waste on such idiocy. The Empress should have relieved him of his head long ago; it's not as though he's actually using it."

"You are well informed, for someone so recently returned," the Divine observed.

Talia shrugged. "As you say, I've been well taught," she replied simply. "Not that Gaspard's ambitions seem to be any real secret. Word has it that he all but slapped the Empress in the face with a play that he commissioned at the Grande Royeaux, and that she has taken forces to Halamshiral to crush the elven uprising there to counter his accusation that she is too lenient with the elves, who had the nerve to object to the murder of one of their own by an Orlesian noble."

"The timing has been...unfortunate," Justinia sighed, well aware of the inadequacy of such a statement. "The Empress has been making slow progress toward improving the lot of the elves, but with Gaspard already stirring up nobles who might otherwise have accepted her decrees, she cannot be seen to treat elves who rebel against her rule any differently that she would any other traitors to the Empire."

"I know," Talia said, her pensive expression giving way to a wry smile at the Divine's look of surprise. "My brother has encountered similar problems. Centuries of prejudices and beliefs can't be reversed overnight. It's always going to be too fast for some, too slow for others...and he doesn't have a rabblerouser like Gaspard nipping at his heels."

"The Grand Duke is more than a nuisance, unfortunately," Justinia replied, though she would have paid good coin to see Gaspard's reaction to being dubbed a rabblerouser by one of his hated Fereldan 'dog lords'. "The elves are not the only ones who will suffer, should he manage to take the throne."

"You support Celene, then?" Talia asked her.

"I will support whoever rules Orlais," Justinia said, not without regret, "though I hope it will be Celene. I do not have the luxury of involving the Chantry in secular politics when our own house is in danger of falling down. With the templars in such disarray, our military capability is greatly reduced." She paused, then added, "You could be of great use as a commander, if you would accept a commission." In such times, people needed more than ideals to follow; they needed heroes, and the woman before her had proven herself a charismatic leader with a good grasp of tactics and strategy, but Justinia was not overly surprised to see her shaking her head before the offer was fully made.

"I'm neither Templar nor Seeker," Talia replied, "and no wish to become either. Besides," she added with a faint smile, "do you really want to be officially responsible for what I do?"

"You do have a point," Justinia conceded wryly. The Hero of Ferelden had a strong sense of right and wrong, but little patience for politics; when she decided to involve herself in a matter, things tended to get done and people tended to get upset. Placing her officially under the Chantry's banner was unlikely to change her; few besides Leliana had any power to sway her. Far easier to leave her free to act and the Chantry free to disavow all knowledge of her actions and commiserate with the offended nobles about the barbaric Fereldan in their midst.

I do know of someone who might suit your purposes, though," Talia went on after a moment's thought. "His name is Ser Cullen Rutherford."

"The Knight-Captain of Kirkwall?" Justinia asked in surprise. "Rumor has it that he fathered a child with a mage and fled with her when the circle fell."

"Married her, too," she confirmed, watching the Divine closely. "Is that a problem?"

Talia knew Chantry custom well enough to know what the official stance would be; that was not what she was asking. Times were changing; some of those changes should be resisted, but not all. Justinia cocked her head, considering. "He survived the rebellion in the Fereldan circle, did he not?"

The Warden nodded. "He's seen what happen when mages abuse their power and lose control, but he's seen the other side, as well. Devon said that he rallied the Kirkwall templars against Meredith when she went mad. He wants a world where his daughter can grow up without fear, whether she is a mage or not."

It was a worthy goal, likely shared by any number of fathers across Thedas. Balance would be needed to reestablish order: templars willing to see mages as something more than abominations-in-waiting, mages willing to see that templar abilities were a necessary safeguard to their magic, lest it overcome them. It lay with her to find that balance; she could not do it alone. "I will give the matter thought," she replied.

Talia accepted this with a nod. "When will Leli be back?" she asked quietly.

"In two days' time," Justinia responded. "Empress Celene has decreed a ball to be held in my honor at the Imperial Palace." A ball at which the Empress would not be in attendance; she would deal with the elven uprising, while the Divine would take a public stance on the mage-templar war. It pained Justinia that the elves had to be dealt with so severely, but there was more than enough chaos already churning in the world. "Leliana will attend me there."

One dark eyebrow arched. "A masked ball?" the Warden asked with the resigned air of one who already knew the answer.

"But of course," Justinia said with a faint smile. It was an aspect of Orlesian culture that annoyed the Fereldan to no end, though the Divine could understand her disdain. "But if you will indulge an old woman, I believe that we can arrange a surprise for her that will keep your presence there both unknown and brief." There seemed no end in sight to their current problems, but she could – and would – arrange a respite for these two who had already given so much for Thedas.

"You're not that old," Talia scoffed, but Justinia could see the interest kindled in her eyes, the desire to see her lover as quickly as possible warring with the appeal of surprising her.

"Compared to my predecessor, perhaps," the Divine replied with a rueful sigh, "but some days I feel ancient." The notion of another fifty years at this pressed down on her like a load of stone; if the Maker was merciful, He would take her before she was reduced to the doddering wreck that Beatrix had become. _Just not before I have managed to make all this right, please,_ she prayed silently, her expectant gaze resting on the Warden, awaiting the answer that she knew was forthcoming.

"All right," Talia agreed at last, adding quickly, "but I get to pick my mask."


	2. Farewells

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Flashback time! The first part takes place after Chapter 1 of 'Moments In Time', while the second is set a few weeks after the destruction of the Kirkwall chantry and the ensuing rebellion there.

_**Lothering, 30 Dragon** _

"I have to go."

"But why?" Bethany Hawke clung to Leliana's hand, looking distressed. "It's the Grey Wardens' job to fight the darkspawn, not yours!"

"Only two Grey Wardens remain," Leliana told the girl. "They will need allies to assist them until the Wardens from other nations arrive." Loghain Mac Tir might block the Orlesian Wardens, but surely he would accept the assistance of Weisshaupt? "They need all the help they can get."

"From a lay-sister of the Chantry," Devon Hawke spoke up, tipping her chair back and propping her feet on the edge of the kitchen table. "That'll make those darkspawn think twice." The blue-green eyes were sardonic, but probing, as well. The eldest of the Hawke siblings had never quite seemed to accept Leliana's vague explanations of her past.

"Carver says that the Grey Wardens betrayed King Cailan," Bethany said anxiously.

"Carver's full of shit," Devon snorted disdainfully. "Most of the Grey Wardens were on the front line with the King and died with him when Loghain tucked tail and ran."

"Teyrn Loghain," Leandra Hawke corrected her eldest calmly, lifting her feet from the table and dropping them to the floor, swiping the dirt away with a rag. "He likely had his reasons."

"About ten-thousand of them," Devon agreed with a scowl. Her usual insouciant demeanor had acquired a darker edge since she and Carver had returned from the rout at Ostagar, two of far too few survivors. "All that was missing was the sodding archdemon."

"If there was no archdemon, maybe it's not a Blight after all," Bethany said hopefully, but her sister shook her head.

"With that many, they don't _need_ an archdemon, Beth. They've taken Ostagar, and there's nothing between there and Lothering but a shitload of swamp that even the fucking Wilders are abandoning."

"Language, Devon," Leandra said. Outwardly, the Hawke matriarch was as serene as ever, but her hazel eyes were grave, with the faintest lines of tension at the corners of her mouth. Devon, who generally lost no opportunity to tweak the nose of any available authority figure, simply nodded in meek acceptance of her mother's rebuke

"You have to leave," Leliana told Leandra earnestly. Devon was correct in her assessment. Archdemon or not, Lothering was in the path of the darkspawn horde. "The Chantry is evacuating as many as can travel now."

"And the bandits are waiting with open arms," Devon growled. Leliana knew – or suspected, anyway, that the young woman had engaged in her own illicit activities to put food on her family's table since Malcolm Hawke's death two years earlier, but smuggling and a bit of petty larceny was a far cry from the rapine and murder being carried out by the two-legged predators that had taken up residence on the outskirts of Lothering.

"The Wardens have agreed to clear out the bandits," Leliana replied. "I will assist them in that, as well."

"By praying?" Devon wanted to know, cocking her head and eying the Orlesian challengingly. "Or singing?" She had never pushed for answers before, seemingly content to amuse herself with whatever her lively imagination came up with.

"I know the use of bow and blade," Leliana replied calmly, "but faith and encouragement have their places, as well. My praying and singing will not be totally useless, I think." _I hope._ Neither of the two Grey Wardens seemed particularly devout, and their companion displayed an open disdain for the Chant of Light and its followers, especially the templars.

"Of course not," Leandra said, with a warm smile for Leliana and a gently reproving look for Devon, "but it will still be dangerous for you."

"You could come with us," Bethany piped up suddenly, giving her mother a beseeching look. "Couldn't she?"

"You would be welcome," her mother assured Leliana.

"We're going to Kirkwall!" Bethany exclaimed before Leliana could reply, her face alight with enthusiasm. "In the Free Marches! Mother's brother is a _noble_ there!"

"Her younger brother," Devon clarified, giving Leandra a pointed glance.

"My parents did not approve of my marriage to Malcolm," her mother explained to Leliana. "Gamlen inherited the estate after they died. I've no intention of going against their wishes; I've no regrets on that score." Her tender expression as she looked at her two daughters made Leliana's chest clench with a bittersweet ache. Malcolm had died before she had arrived in Lothering, but his presence in the Hawke household – and the love between he and Leandra – had always been evident in the way his widow and children spoke of him. It had always seemed unfair that he should have died so young, but then, when had life been fair?

Blasphemy, she chided herself. The Maker's will was not hers to know, the pattern of His weavings not hers to see. All that she could do was go where she felt herself led, and that was not Kirkwall.

"I sent him a letter," Leandra went on. "I'd hoped to receive a reply, but I don't think we can wait any longer here. We'll travel to Gwaren and take a ship from there. As I said, you are welcome to come with us. I am certain that the Chantry in Kirkwall would welcome your presence."

"That is kind of you," Leliana replied with a smile. The Hawke family had been one of the few who had made her feel truly welcome in Lothering. She would miss them, but her heart would rest easier knowing that they had a place of safety to flee to. "But this is something that I must do. It is the Maker's will for me." She did not speak of her vision; she'd endured enough ridicule on that matter for one day, and Devon would be even more derisive than the Wardens had.

"Then bless all of you, for shouldering such a burden," Leandra told her. "Would you like to stay for dinner? Your new companions are welcome as well, if they would like. There's not much, but it's likely better than what Danal is serving at Dane's Refuge."

That was undoubtedly true, but Leliana shook her head. "They were cooking their own dinner when I left them," she said. "They plan to rise early and go in search of the bandits, so I'd best get some rest of my own." She did not mention the bounty that Teyrn Loghain had placed upon their heads, or that any who aided them would risk punishment. Add to that the strong suspicion that the beautiful but arrogant woman who accompanied the Wardens was an apostate, and it seemed wise to keep her new companions away from this family who had already lost much. "Walk me out?" she invited Bethany, who accepted with a smile tinged at the edges with sorrow. Devon got to her feet, as well, waiting as Leliana made her farewell to Leandra, then sauntering out with her sister and their guest.

"You'll be careful, won't you?" Bethany pleaded with her softly.

"Of course I will," Leliana assured her with a smile. "Fighting darkspawn is what Grey Wardens do best. I cannot think of a safer place to be in a Blight."

"You're not thinking, then," Devon informed her grimly. "The Grey Wardens at Ostagar were slaughtered. Two more aren't likely to have any better luck."

"They will do what Grey Wardens have always done: gather allies against the Blight," Leliana replied, knowing that the younger woman was right. "They have ancient treaties from the mages' circle, the Dalish elves and the dwarves of Orzammar, and Grey Wardens from other nations will come soon. This Blight is just begun." The fourth Blight had lasted over a decade and decimated the lands of Antiva, the Free Marches and the Anderfels; Maker willing, this one could be stopped sooner.

"I'll miss you," Bethany said wistfully.

"I will miss you, too," Leliana told her. The girl had such a sweet temperament and devotion to the Maker; Leliana had tried more than once to nudge her in the direction of the Chantry, but the notion had seemed to make Bethany nervous for some reason, and she had eventually stopped her efforts and simply enjoyed her company. "Perhaps when the Blight is over, I can visit you in your mansion in Kirkwall, yes?"

"That would be wonderful," Bethany replied. "Would you...would you sing us a song, please?" She glanced to Devon, who added her nod to the request, more to please her sister than any real interest in music, Leliana knew.

"Gladly," Leliana said warmly. Even after turning away from her life as a bard, she had been unable to quell her love of performing for an appreciative audience, seeing the care slip from weary faces for a time as song or story drew them into its thrall. Perhaps it was vanity, but it brought others pleasure, so it could not be such a bad thing, could it? At any rate, she suspected that her new companions, with the possible exception of Alistair, would have little interest in her songs and stories. Their leader, the one named Talia, had barely given the lute she had unpacked in the camp a second glance, her focus centered upon examining her armor for needed repairs, and Morrigan had made a snide comment about hoping they would not be forced to listen to any caterwauling. Then Alistair had reprimanded her, Morrigan had taken offense, and only Talia's raised voice had headed off the argument, her impatient glower plainly communicating that she was already beginning to regret agreeing to allow Leliana to join them.

She paused to search her memory for an appropriate tune, then began to sing:

" _Shadows fall and Hope has fled  
Steel your heart,  
The Dawn will come._

_The Night is long and the Path is dark_   
_Look to the sky, for one day soon_   
_The Dawn will Come."_

Bethany listened raptly as she poured every bit of hope she could summon into each word. The dawn would come, the Blight would be defeated, and this dear family would find the peace and prosperity that they so richly deserved. As the last notes faded, Bethany threw her arms around her.

"Thank you," she whispered, hazel eyes brimming with tears.

"Don't cry, dear one," Leliana told her, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead, giving Devon a skeptical glance when she stepped in, head turned to invite a kiss to her cheek. Sure enough, when Leliana complied, the incorrigible scamp turned her head so that their lips met, the teasing flicker of her tongue there and gone before Leliana could draw back.

"Devon!" Bethany exclaimed, scandalized, but her sister just grinned.

"Last kiss for the dying, Beths," she offered with a wink, receiving a slap to the shoulder from Bethany in response.

"No one is going to die, Devon," Leliana scolded her, shaking her head in amused exasperation. The eldest Hawke sibling was a shameless flirt, with a cocky assurance that made her popular with the young people around Lothering, male and female alike. Leliana had resisted her charms with no great effort; it had long since become an amiable game of sorts between them, and she was willing to give Devon this little victory, because she could see the weight of worry that the girl tried to hide from her mother and siblings with her antics. "Take care of them," she told her gently.

"Count on it," Devon replied, saucy smile still in place, resolve steeling her eyes as she reached for her sister's hand. "C'mon, Beth. Let's go see if Carver and Falcon need help getting the goats in."

Leliana watched them go, offering up a silent prayer for their safety, then turned to follow her own path.

* * *

_**Val Royeaux, 37 Dragon** _

"I have to go."

"I know."

Leliana had known as soon as she had seen Zevran. Known even before that, truth be told, when the first incredulous reports of the destruction of the Kirkwall chantry and the supposed involvement of Devon Hawke in the rebellion there had reached the Grand Cathedral. She had been relieved when Zevran had confirmed that Devon and Bethany had survived the carnage, but she had known that a longstanding debt was now being called in.

" _You still owe me, hero." Isabela regarded Talia, her smirk very much as it had been years ago in Denerim, but her amber eyes touched with something that had not been there then._

" _I know," Talia replied, glancing from the pirate to Devon Hawke, a faint smile of understanding on her lips. "I pay my debts."_

Leliana had hoped then that they would leave Kirkwall, just as Divine Justinia had warned Grand Cleric Elthina to do, but Bethany had still been in the Gallows, a prisoner of the circle there. Devon would never have left her sister, and Isabela would not leave Devon. And Elthina? Leliana did not know what had motivated her. Arrogance? Denial? Or a genuine belief that she could stave off the eruption that seemed imminent?

Did it matter any longer? Elthina had remained in Kirkwall, Justinia had stayed her hand, and now the rebellion that had ignited there threatened to blaze out of control and spread. Cassandra had already been dispatched to Kirkwall to assess the situation, and in the midst of conflicting reports, predictions of doom and demands for vengeance, the former Antivan Crow had slipped into Val Royeaux as unobtrusively as the stray cats that haunted the alleys that crisscrossed the Orlesian capital, his jaunty bearing intact but his sea-green eyes touched with a rare gravity. He knew well what the message he bore would mean to Talia...and to Leliana.

There had been only the briefest conversation between the three of them, and when he had drawn Talia away, Leliana did not try to follow, nor ask questions when she returned without him. Only now, alone within their apartment within the Grand Cathedral, the moon's light the only illumination and nothing between them, did they speak what they both knew.

"Anders did it." Talia's voice was soft, her features taut with anger, bafflement...guilt. "He's the one who destroyed the Chantry."

Leliana drew a slow breath, released it. "Zevran was sure?" It was one of the rumors that had made it to Orlais, but there were at least half a dozen others, including the appearance of another archdemon.

"He's sure," Talia nodded. Her hand drifted over Leliana's hip, along her thigh, fingers curling beneath and drawing it upward. The bard obligingly twined her leg around her lover's as Talia wrapped strong arms around her, drawing them closer together, offering and accepting the comfort that they both needed. It was this, more than anything, that Leliana treasured. The easy closeness between them: the way that Talia's hand would find hers, fingers intertwining without thought as they walked down the street or sat side by side in the Grande Royeaux; the way that her Warden would kiss her gently, regardless of who looked on; the way that she reached out for Leliana instinctively in her nightmares, frequently calming without even waking when the bard held her; the way that she was there when Leliana's own doubts and fears turned her dreams dark, gentle kisses and soothing words pushing back the shadows. It was what she treasured, and what she knew that she would be missing all too soon.

"He's dead," Talia went on. "Hawke killed him afterward." She gave a hiss of frustration, dropping her head to Leliana's shoulder. "I should have made him go back when I found him there. I should have -"

"Hshh." Leliana placed a gentle finger on her lover's lips. "Anders chose his own path." She had not known the mage well. She knew that he had escaped from the Fereldan circle during Uldred's uprising and found his way into the rebellion in the Bannorn, becoming an ally and confidante to Talia's brother, Fergus. Talia had conscripted him as a favor to Fergus, resolving a potentially thorny problem between the new King of Ferelden and the Chantry. After the Blight, Anders had gone to the Joining willingly and had fought beside Talia in the darkspawn uprising that had nearly destroyed Amaranthine and Vigil's Keep, only to leave afterward, when neither Talia nor Fergus had taken a stance on mages bold enough to suit him (which would have required advocating immediate and unconditional freedom for all mages in Ferelden and accepting any mage that wished to join the Grey Wardens, regardless of their control or disposition).

It was not a time that Leliana liked to recall. While Talia and a handful of newly-Joined Grey Wardens had been caught between opposing factions of darkspawn, she had been far away with Alistair, in search of Morrigan and her child, trying to right the sin that she had committed in the name of love and miserably certain that in saving her Warden, she had lost her for good.

It had not been the first time that secrets had nearly torn their love asunder, but it had been the last. With the Architect and the Mother both dead, the darkspawn threat ended, Talia had turned the position of Warden-Commander over to Alistair and left the Grey Wardens, following Leliana to Orlais. It was why she had not tried to force Anders to return when they had found him living in Kirkwall; she had felt that she had no authority or right to deny any other the choice she had made.

"Alistair agreed with you," she reminded Talia gently now, framing her lover's face in her hands. With the darkspawn threat ended, it had seemed of little use to force an unwilling member to remain, even when they had only Morrigan's word that the child that Alistair had fathered: a child carrying the soul of Urthemiel, would not be the cause of a new Blight, or something even worse. "Neither of you could have foreseen this." The man they had encountered in Kirkwall had been embittered and angry, railing against the injustices suffered by mages, but there had been no hint that he could have been capable of an act as violent and massive as what had been described.

Dark eyes shadowed with remorse and resolve met hers. "That doesn't change what has been done," Talia whispered. "The templars are blaming all the mages, the mages can either let themselves be slaughtered or fight." She shook her head, her lips pressed into a grim line. "I can't blame them for fighting; not all of them are like Anders or Uldred...but not all of them are like Wynne, either. I have to go. I have to find out what happened, what's happening now. Isabela got Hawke and her sister out of Kirkwall on her ship with a few others."

"And she wants you to help her protect them," Leliana finished for her, already feeling the ache of loss; seven years ago, the Rivaini Pirate had helped them kill Marjolane, helped Talia protect Leliana. It was a debt that her Warden would not ignore.

"Yes," Talia replied simply, catching her hands and drawing them down, kissing them one by one before capturing her bard's lips, the kiss lingering, tender. "I will come back to you," she vowed when they drew apart.

"I know," Leliana replied. And she did. The time when she was uncertain of Talia's love and devotion was long past, and the years since they had come to Orlais had been the happiest of her life. There had been partings, times when duty drew them in different directions, but they had always been brief: a few weeks, at most, before they would reunite. This would be different, she knew, but though she had no doubt that her Warden would try to return to her, in her heart lurked the fear that the price for the years of happiness that she had stolen was finally coming due. "I am afraid," she confessed, pressing her face into Talia's shoulder, holding her tight.

"So am I," Talia said softly. The knowledge of the Dark Ritual, of the existence of a child with an Old God's soul, was something that neither of them ever forgot, even though they did not speak of it. Atonement for that sin was what had led Leliana to accept Divine Justinia's request to serve as her Left Hand; Talia knew this, and had never pressed her to walk away, nor would she now. Leliana would remain and serve, while Talia would leave and seek...and only time would tell if the Maker's mercy would bring them together again.

"When will you leave?" Leliana asked. She did not ask where Isabela's ship was, where they might be bound. Rumors overwhelmingly claimed that Devon Hawke had sided with the mages, killed the Knight-Commander of the Templars. It made little sense; apart from her sister, Devon had showed little interest in the plight of the mages. Perhaps she was protecting Bethany, or perhaps the reports had been in error, but one of Cassandra's chief goals had been to find the Champion of Kirkwall and obtain her account of events. The Right Hand of the Divine was not known for her patience or her gentleness. There would be harsh words when she discovered that Talia had absconded with her target, but Talia did not answer to the Chantry, and Leliana could not reveal what she did not know. An odd balance, and one that would have been impossible without the trust that Divine Justinia placed in her Left Hand. Leliana prayed that trust would not prove misplaced, that Devon Hawke had not assisted Anders in destroying the Chantry, murdering innocents. She did not believe it was so, but many things that she had once not believed had come to pass.

"Not yet," Talia replied, turning her head, lips brushing along the line of Leliana's jaw, breath warm against her cheek as her hands moved over the bard's skin with tender deliberation. "Not just yet."

Much later, after they had exhausted their passion and fallen asleep in each other's arms, Leliana was awakened in the predawn darkness by her lover, fully dressed and armored. Talia had left her once while she slept: once, and never again.

"I will wait for you," she promised after a lingering kiss.

"And I will come back to you," her Warden replied, dark eyes drinking her in as though storing up the sight of her against the long separation. One last kiss, and she was gone, and Leliana lay back on the bed, staring out the window at the stars of Alindra and her soldier and wondering how she had ever thought their tale a hopeful one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I almost put this in 'Stolen Moments', but I decided that would be scattergunning things too much, and it really does fit in with the storyline here. Again, things feel a bit stilted as I try to organize happenings that have been laid out in my head-canon for quite some time and align them in a semi-coherent manner with BioWare's storyline leading into Inquisition.
> 
> I'd mentioned doing a Stolen Moments chapter with Leli saying goodbye to the Hawkes in Lothering, and this turned out to be it. The farewell between Talia and Leli was a bit more complex to construct, but I blame BioWare for suggesting at the end of DA2 that Hawke and the Warden were off somewhere together. Talia would definitely respond to Bela asking for help getting her people to a safe location, but there would be the added motivation of wanting to know just WTF Anders did and whether/how Hawke was involved.


	3. Masks

Masks were a part of life in the Orlesian Empire, and nowhere was this more true than in Val Royeaux. A momentary quirk of fashion generations back, meant to add an entertaining layer to the Game, had become an integral part of high society. Less able players believed that the concealment of their faces offered them an edge in the Game, and so it might...to others as lacking in skill. To everyone else – certainly any bard worthy of the name – there was as much or more information to be gleaned from posture, reactions, words spoken or unspoken by a fool who believed their secrets safe behind their mask.

Despite their relative uselessness in the Game – or perhaps because of it – the use of masks had persisted, expanding beyond ornamentation at balls to become a basic item that no Orlesian above a certain station would be seen in public without. Nobles spared no expense, paying master craftsmen to create elaborate masks of gold and silver, inlaid with mother-of-pearl or precious gems, extravagantly adorned with feathers, fur and other ornamentation. These were worn at court or grand balls, intended to display wealth and influence. Less ornate masks were reserved for daily interactions, with servants of the noble houses wearing simpler masks of paste, tin or wood, painted in their liege's colors to mark them as a step above the unmasked masses and not to be trifled with.

As a bard, Leliana had worn many a mask, but she had learned contempt of the custom from Marjolaine, who had sneered at any who had to rely upon a physical barrier to conceal their emotions. From her bardmaster, Leliana had learned how to look beyond the masks and, more importantly, how to compose her own features into a mask that could not be so easily penetrated. Those had been the masks that had been the hardest to put aside, even when her life as a bard was long over. For a time, she had been able to let them go, but now...

At least now she was not required to don a crafted mask. Members of the Chantry were exempted from such social mores, but she wore another mask tonight: that of a Chantry priest attending the Most Holy at the ball that Empress Celene had decreed held in her honor. Standing beside the Sunburst Throne on the raised dais, clothed in simple robes, with no visible weapons, she had been all but invisible to the nobles as they climbed the steps in turn to offer their respects to the Divine. With that obligation seen to, the guests had been all too ready to ignore the guest of honor and turn their energies to the real reason they had come: to see and be seen, to display the fact that they had been considered worthy of an invitation and gauge the worthiness of others who had likewise been invited.

It made for quite the show, one that Leliana was free to observe from her position on the dais, her mask of placid obedience almost unneeded. Orlesian nobles hated looking up to anyone, so once the ball was well underway, very few eyes lifted above the level of the dance floor to the Divine and her attendants.

She could remember so clearly the first time she had attended such an event at Lady Cecilie's side, giddy with excitement and anticipation. How beautiful the masks and gowns had seemed, how bright the smiles, how gay the revelry to an innocent girl who had longed for nothing more than to be a part of it all!

A few short years later, her first time at a ball as Marjolaine's protegee was no less clearly remembered. She had known now that these pretty people hid secrets beneath their masks, and she had been so smugly certain that she would learn them all, so eager to please the beautiful bardmaster who had seemed so wise in the ways of the world, and had promised to teach her student all that she knew.

And now?

Now she watched a Marquis try unsuccessfully to keep his eyes from lingering upon the young lady with whom he was having an affair. His wife was far better at such things; she never looked toward the girl, whom she was also having an affair with, but she plainly noticed where her husband's attention lay and just as plainly worried that her secret had been discovered. And the young bard who was bedding them both was better at the Game than either of her lovers, chatting animatedly with a group of young nobles, never once looking at the husband, the wife or the Comte who had hired her to sow discord in a rival house. Such matters did not involve the Chantry, however, and Leliana's attention moved on.

Now she noted that one Contessa's shoes were far more expensive than her family's current fortunes should have permitted and took note of who she spoke to, danced with...and who she avoided: the Duke to whom she owed a tidy sum, of which those frivolous shoes would have claimed no small part. Debts could be paid in many ways, however, and while the Contessa was little involved in Chantry affairs, the Duke was known to be opposed to Justinia's efforts at reform. Any sudden devotion to religious duties on the part of the Contessa would be subject to scrutiny.

Now she watched the guests talking among themselves, took note of the surreptitious glances in the direction of the dais that never quite rose to the level of the throne and its occupant. Justinia's views were welcomed by few among the nobility and strongly opposed by many; those who played the Game had grown accustomed to a Divine who was nothing more than a figurehead. A Divine who had both a mind of her own and an aptitude for the Game had not been welcomed; no one had yet been bold enough to make an overt move against Justinia, but it would only be a matter of time, and her Left Hand would be ready when it happened.

She had come full circle, back to what she had once fled. She had spied, stolen, seduced, killed, for profit, for love of Marjolaine and for the sheer delight of seeing just how much she could accomplish with her targets none the wiser. Now? She performed many of the same acts as she had then, but her motivations were nobler: the safety of the Most Holy, the furtherance of an agenda intended to change the trajectory of a Chantry veered off course from its mission and calm the chaos that threatened to flare into a war that could consume the southern nations. She told herself that, and most of the time, she believed it.

The truth was, she loved the Game. Loved and hated it, sometimes both at once, but love or hate, she was _good_ at it. Good enough that it frightened her sometimes.

_"We are the same, you and I."_

Marjolaine's words, Marjolaine's voice in her memory, mocking and sure, and no matter how much Leliana wanted to deny it, she could not. Her skills were needed by Justinia, and if more and more she felt that the mask of who she had to be was becoming who she truly was, it was a price that she would pay. She owed her benefactor that much.

_"Do you see how she looks at me? That is how she will look at you, once she sees how you truly are. It is only a matter of time."_

Nearly a year had passed since her Warden had left in the darkness before dawn, a year in which Leliana had found out just how much Talia had learned in their time together. The letters that arrived at irregular intervals were circumspectly worded, rarely referring directly to people, places, events, instead employing oblique references that had meaning between the two of them in a code that would be near impossible for another to interpret clearly. In this manner, Leliana had learned that Devon, her sister and Isabela were safe, that sweet Bethany was pregnant, married to the former Knight-Captain of Kirkwall, the same Ser Cullen who had survived the mage uprising in the Fereldan circle. 'Our friend from two circles', Talia had dubbed him, and no other of their mutual acquaintance fit the appellation. Good to know he had evidently overcome his antipathy toward mages, and wonderful to know that Bethany would have the family that she had always yearned for, but along with the news that the refugees from Kirkwall were secure had come word that Alistair had asked for help in a matter that Talia would not divulge, even in veiled terms.

Leliana would never begrudge Alistair Talia's assistance; she would have gone herself, had she been able. It had been far too long since she had seen dear Alistair, and anything that could draw him from his duty as Warden-Commander must be serious, indeed, but with echoes of the Kirkwall rebellion resounding throughout Thedas and political tensions in Orlais climbing toward the boiling point, the Left Hand of the Divine had been needed elsewhere. Only two letters had come since then, frustratingly void of any detail save her continued well being and her love. Leliana clung to both, reading each letter over and over again until the paper was near worn through from being unfolded and folded. It had been well over a month since the last had been received, the longest time by far between communications from her Warden.

She had eyes and ears throughout Thedas, but separating fact from fiction was a cumbersome task when you were looking for a legend. Rumors had Talia alternately leading a mage rebellion or battling abominations in half a dozen cities; decimating the Crows in Antiva; allying with the Qunari against the Tevinters in Seheron; supporting the elvhen uprising in Halimsharal. The latter, at least, had been easy enough to discredit. Talia would know what the inevitable consequence of such a rebellion would be, and she would never have encouraged such a doomed endeavor.

But the rest? Without knowing the nature of Alistair's request, it was impossible to be sure, though the reports from Seheron had provided the most plausible details and also mentioned that Devon Hawke, Isabela and a dwarf named Varric Tethras accompanied the two Wardens. That had been enough to send Cassandra north; she still more than half blamed Hawke for the chaos at Kirkwall, and for making a martyr of Anders, rather than allowing the templars to bring him to justice, which might have fulfilled their need for vengeance.

Leliana was not so sure. Too many of the order these days seemed to view the mages as criminals, prisoners to be kept from escaping, only a moment's inattention away from becoming abominations. Those that did not fall into that category were too often of the ilk that took pleasure from exerting control over their charges. Both types had been more than eager of an excuse to tighten that control, all but welcoming the rebellions that such harshness was guaranteed to bring about. Far too few templars had both the skill to quell out-of-control magics and the belief that mages were fellow children of the Maker, in need of protection but also of respect. Both would be vital if order was to be restored.

Below, the musicians began a lively tune that signaled the beginning of the _tourdion_ , a dance that involved much hopping and kicking. Rumors had Celene enjoying the dance, but Leliana found it difficult to picture the Empress hopping about; more likely, the rumors had been put into play by one of those who enjoyed seeing what lengths the social elite would go to to be fashionable. Most of the dancers comported themselves with an agile grace; they had undoubtedly spent long hours practicing for this public display, earning approving applause from the onlookers. Justinia clapped politely, a gentle smile curving her lips, and Leliana and the other attendants mirrored her.

This late in the evening, however, there were always some who had drunk too much wine, and others who simply lacked the coordination for such an endeavor. One such young woman lost her footing and stumbled, falling heavily to the floor, her skirt torn and her mask tumbling across the marble. As her mother scurried to collect her, plainly more concerned about the loss of face than any potential injury, the girl who had adroitly tripped her moved to collect her prize: the eligible young man with whom the fallen girl had been dancing. The Game in small scale, played for petty stakes.

If Justinia had noticed the tripping, she gave no sign, her features composed into a pleasantly attentive mien. Unlike Beatrix, whose withered frame had seemed overwhelmed by the robes and headdress of her office and who had frequently fallen asleep on the Sunburst Throne, the current Divine wore her regalia with grace, dignity and an undeniable air of authority. Blue eyes shifted briefly to Leliana, the faintest nod all the instruction that the Left Hand of the Divine required from the Most Holy.

A single templar had been requested as an honor guard, bearing the only weapon permitted in the ballroom. Any number would have volunteered for the honor (though perhaps not so many as would have before the Kirkwall rebellion), but after some discussion, the request that had been submitted to Knight-Commander Eron contained a single name.

Knight-Captain Evangeline de Brassard stood at attention at the foot of the dais. Her armor was polished to a high sheen, her crimson tunic immaculate, and her dark hair arranged in an elegant braid that was achingly familiar. As Leliana descended the steps toward the templar, she caught sight of Josephine Montilyet. The Antivan ambassador looked stunning in a gown in shimmering hues of bronze and crimson, her gilded mask adorned with feathers in matching colors that contrasted exquisitely with her dark hair. As their eyes met, the Antivan gave her a sunny smile that immediately sparked suspicion.

_What are you up to, Josie?_ Leliana feared no real malfeasance from her friend, but she clearly knew _something_ that she believed the Left Hand would find interesting. The smile had been intended to advertise that fact, pique Leliana's curiosity. Some juicy bit of gossip, no doubt. She'd have to find her after the conclusion of the ball and find out what it was; it was a rare luxury to hear about matters no more serious than a nobleman making an ass of himself in pursuit of a lover, and Josephine knew it, storing such tidbits away and presenting them like bright baubles nestled among more mundane subjects. She had been a particular blessing these last few weeks, as days stretched on with no word from Talia.

Allowing herself a brief moment of anticipatory speculation, Leliana returned the smile with one that Josie would know: _We will speak later, yes?_ and approached Ser Evangeline, who was unaware of her presence, her attention focused upon the other guests, the picture of vigilance, but a subtle tension visible in the set of her shoulders.

"You cannot wait to get away, I see."

The templar turned in surprise. "Her Eminence need not fear I'll abandon her," she answered stiffly, plainly thinking that she was being reprimanded. She was a pretty girl, with fair skin and green eyes; Leliana had seen the speculative and pitying glances the women at the ball had given her and known well what they would be saying among themselves:

_Such a pretty thing. I wonder what's wrong with her, that she had to take up the sword?_ It would never occur to such petty, self-absorbed creatures that anyone might consider such a calling as worthy of pursuit.

She made a conciliatory gesture, hoping to put the girl at ease. "Oh, I did not mean to imply that you might. You do a better job of guarding your feelings than most templars I've encountered." Someone had apparently told them that looking grim and forbidding was a necessary part of their job, but the right question turned those harsh visages into open books. "Even so, this must be a very boring assignment for you."

Evangeline hesitated, visibly considering her response. "I think my Knight-Commander believed I might be more … comfortable in this setting," she offered at last, "considering the family I was born to."

"But you're not." The de Brassard family had been minor nobility in Val Royeaux, her father a chevalier from whom she had learned her martial skills. Evangeline had volunteered for the Templar Order, and had remained after her parents had died, leaving the family fortune to a spendthrift uncle who had lost it all in near record time.

The younger woman gave a slight shrug. "I left that life behind a long time ago." Her gaze turned back to the revelers, who had exchanged dancing for conversation, little groups forming, dissolving, reforming as their members fought with words and smiles, seeking an advantage on the only battleground that most of them would ever set foot upon. Evangeline's expression as she watched them was one of puzzlement touched at the edges with disdain. "All that wealth and influence, and what do they use it for?" she asked softly. "Their own advancement, while their world crumbles around them."

Justinia's instincts had been right, as they usually were. "I would agree with that," Leliana told her. "I know Her Eminence would, as well." True, though a test, as well, but the templar did not puff up or look otherwise gratified at being told that the Divine shared her views.

"That makes at least three of us, then," she replied, her practical demeanor so very like Talia that the bard had to fight a sudden wave of melancholy.

She covered it with a laugh, offering the templar her hand. "Pardon my atrocious manners. My name is Leliana."

If the younger woman recognized the name, she gave no sign. Cassandra was known to all as the Right Hand of the Divine, but Justinia's Left Hand remained cloaked in shadow. Even those who knew of her station rarely knew the whole of it; few who met her as Sister Nightingale survived the meeting.

"Knight-Captain Evangeline," the young woman returned politely, her handshake firm without crushing.

Leliana nodded. "Oh, yes, I know. There was a great deal of discussion as to who would be guarding the Divine tonight." Another stroke to her ego, if such things moved her, but her expression was more curious than proud. So far, so good. "Many of those in your order of similar rank, after all, have expressed certain … attitudes which cause us concern." Having tossed out that baited hook, Leliana turned and moved to a small table near the foot of the dais where carafes of chilled wine and glasses had been set out. The table was too close to the Divine for the comfort of most of the guests, with a comfortable buffer insulating them from the nearest ears. As she poured a glass of wine, Evangeline followed her.

"What do you mean?" she wanted to know. "What sort of concern?"

"You are aware of what happened in Kirkwall?"

"Isn't everyone?" True enough, but while knowledge of the event was widely spread, awareness of the causes was not nearly so well known. Or perhaps it would be more accurate to say that few wished to acknowledge what was known.

Leliana nodded toward the White Spire, visible through the windows of the ballroom, as pale as the moon against the night sky. "The Circle of Magi in Kirkwall rebelled and plunged the city into war, and we've been feeling the effects across Thedas ever since. The templars now have two ways they can view it: either as a challenge to their authority … or as a lesson to be learned."

"And what does that have to do with me?" Evangeline wanted to know. "I don't believe I've expressed an opinion one way or the other." Her impatience with games, her plain spoken manner was so very much like Talia, as was her build: tall and strong, but with an innate grace. Briefly, the temptation arose to draw her away after the ball, seduce her, pretend … She'd had naught but memories and dreams to sustain her for far too long, but the temptation was one easily resisted and dismissed. Justinia would undoubtedly not approve, and beyond that, it would be unfair to Talia, to herself and most of all to this honest and honorable young woman that the Divine believed to be the future of the Templar Order.

"Haven't you?" Leliana kept her voice and expression light as she took a sip of wine. Anyone watching would think them to be chatting about subjects far more frivolous than mage rebellions. "You say the nobility do nothing useful with their influence. Am I not to read from this that you feel the templars are different?" Evangeline had not walked away from her family's fortune because she liked hitting things with swords.

"Of course I do," she replied, growing more visibly impatient with the oblique line of discussion. "We protect the world from the mages and the mages from themselves – not because they ask us to, or because the task is an easy one, but because it is the right thing to do." The words were not simply a rote recital; they were passionately spoken, deeply felt.

"That sounds like an opinion to me," Leliana challenged her.

"It is one I happen to share with the rest of my order." The contrast between this statement and the previous one was like comparing chalk to cheese. Evangeline could not even hold her eyes when she made the assertion. She knew it was not true, wished that it was.

"If only that were so." If it were, the current situation would not exist, the rebellion in Kirkwall would never have taken place. Could it be made to be so? Perhaps, but not without templars like Knight-Captain Evangeline de Brassard to show what was possible. "There are many who believe that a war is inevitable, and that the Chantry has not done enough to support efforts the templars have made to prevent it." That such 'efforts' consisted almost exclusively of ever harsher oppression of the mages never seemed to make it into those discussions. "They say we must begin picking sides."

"And you're saying I was chosen to guard the Divine tonight because you believe I've picked a side?" Evangeline was not angry, not insulted, but definitely wary. She would not betray her order, but she did not yet realize that her order would betray her, if her choices did not meet with the approval of her superiors. Sides were already being chosen, and Justinia intended to make her own position clear tonight.

"I cannot say. That might be worth a discussion." Leliana took another drink of her wine. How Evangeline responded to the statement that the Divine would deliver in a few minutes would be the final test, after which discussions might begin in earnest. Movement across the ballroom caught her eye, and her free hand fell languidly to her side as she watched the young man in templar armor edging his way through the forest of guests, his step quickening when he saw Evangeline. Most of the revelers took no notice of the newcomer, except to scowl when he inadvertently brushed against them as he passed, but Josephine – bless her – was sauntering casually toward the doors, ready to summon guards if needed. The ambassador had little talent for combat, but her wits could be a formidable weapon.

"Ser Evangeline! Thank the Maker I found you!" he exclaimed as he drew near, though why she should have been difficult to locate was a mystery. Belatedly, he realized that the templar was not alone, and began to stammer an apology.

"There is no need to worry young ser," Leliana assured him with a light laugh, "though I hope you have good reason for bringing your sword. There is only supposed to be the one, after all." The only one visible, at any rate. The daggers beneath her robe could be brought into play swiftly if they were needed, and if not, no one but herself and Justinia need know they were there. Her reprimand was gently given; the lad was young, looked barely old enough to shave, and he blushed deeply when she nodded toward the sword at Evangeline's hip. He reminded her more than a bit of Ser Talbot in his sweet earnestness; Maker willing, he would not share that young man's fate.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled, mortified. "I didn't think ..."

"You have a purpose here?" Evangeline asked pointedly.

"I, uh … I do!" He fumbled in his belt pouch and fished out a folded piece of parchment that he handed her. "I was sent by the Knight-Commander. There's been another murder at the White Spire."

"There has?" As Evangeline unfolded the missive and read it, Leliana glanced around cautiously, ensuring that no one was close enough to have heard the carelessly blurted statement. The murders were not common knowledge outside of the Spire; even within the circle, the exact number of the dead was a matter of rumor and speculation. If there had been another, it would be the sixth, and if it was anything like the previous five, no clues as to the identity of the murderer had been found. "Tell him I will come as soon as I am able," Evangeline said, folding the parchment and slipping it into a pocket, her expression troubled.

The lad nodded but stayed put, looking hesitantly at Leliana. "I'm sorry, madame, but I think I might have a message for you as well."

"Oh?" She regarded him curiously. "From the templars?" That seemed highly unlikely. Most of the order who knew who she was would find her involvement in the investigation no more welcome than that of the Seekers of Truth.

He shook his head. "No, there was a servant outside looking for you. A red-haired priest with the Divine, he said. I was told there is an old friend asking to see you."

"An old friend?" Despite the fact that she was already expecting one old friend, she could not suppress the spark of hope in her breast. "Did this servant say which one?"

"No, madame. He said this person came from Ferelden, if that helps."

"It does." She did not show her disappointment as she turned to Evangeline and dipped a curtsy. "It seems our conversation will have to continue another time, good ser. Maker watch over you until then."

"And you."

She followed the young templar out of the ballroom, sending Josephine a nod to indicate that assistance would not be required and receiving an even sunnier smile than before. She chuckled softly, shaking her head. Josie's gossip would have to wait; it had been far too long since she had seen this old friend, and Chantry business was involved, as well.

Outside the ballroom, she was directed to the suite that had been provided for Justinia's use and moved purposefully through the corridor, opened the door and slipped inside.

"Wynne!" The smile that touched her lips was genuine. The mage looked older than the last time they had met, but her answering smile was no less warm than it had always been. It was the spark of mischief gleaming in the blue eyes that warned Leliana, however; she turned as strong arms slipped around her from behind and found herself looking up into the face that had haunted her dreams for the last eleven months and seven days.

"Talia -" Any other words she might have uttered were captured by her Warden's lips, the kiss fierce and tender; she slid her arms around Talia's neck, holding on tight and losing herself in the kiss until the need for air made itself known.

"Maker, but I missed you," Talia breathed, drawing back only slightly, fingers tracing the curve of Leliana's cheek, dark eyes drinking in the Orlesian's face with a weary wonder. She looked older, Leliana realized with a pang of regret. She _was_ older, by nearly a year, but the lines of care that touched her features made it clear that the experiences of that year had aged her beyond that. Experiences that Leliana had not been present for. Talia's gaze cut toward Wynne, a grin tugging at the corners of her mouth. "I'm in your debt. I never would have dared try that if she'd been alone."

"It was my pleasure," Wynne replied, smiling fondly at them. If the mage had not been there, had not been so obviously unconcerned, Leliana would have indeed reacted very differently to arms encircling her from behind.

"I missed you, too," she whispered to Talia, reaching up to tuck an errant wisp of hair behind an ear, then curling her hand into a fist and smacking her lover lightly on her shoulder. "Where have you _been_? You could have at least told me -"

A finger held to her lips stopped her words. "I couldn't," Talia told her regretfully. "If the letter had been intercepted...it was too risky. Alistair is fine," she went on, anticipating Leliana's next question. "He sends his love. I've made him promise to come for a visit, once he makes sure that Vigil's Keep hasn't burned to the ground while he was gone. As to where I've been, the short version is Seheron – and no, I didn't see Cassandra. She likely arrived after we left … again." The smug amusement pushed the careworn look aside for the moment, and Leliana couldn't help a chuckle.

"She's already furious with you, you know."

Talia shrugged, unconcerned. She and the Seeker butted heads on a regular basis, both of them stubbornly determined to do things their own way. "She'll live. I'll answer whatever questions she has when she makes it back. Hawke, Bethany and the others are safely away, and I've no idea where … and you've a namesake, by the way."

"Bethany had her baby?" At Talia's nod, Leliana gave a delighted squeal, hugging her tight. "That is wonderful news! I'm so happy for her. Is Cullen still with them?"

"They got married not long after they left Kirkwall," Talia confirmed. "It suits him, and that baby's already got him wrapped around her finger."

"I'm glad that he has managed to recover from what he suffered at Uldred's hands," Wynne said, and Leliana realized guiltily that she had all but forgotten about the mage's presence, "though I wish he had not left the templars. The order will need men and women like him if the conflict with the mages is to be brought under control."

"He may be convinced to change his mind," Talia replied, drawing Leliana against her. The bard closed her eyes, nuzzling into the curve of her lover's neck with a happy sigh. She had foregone her armor for a formal-looking tunic and trews, and the warmth of her through her clothing was both blessing and temptation. Had Wynne not been here, Leliana would have already pinned her Warden to the wall and demonstrated just how much she had been missed. "As long as he is assured of the safety of his wife and child."

Leliana drew back, opening her eyes and looking up at Talia in surprise. "The Divine would never -" she began, then broke off, because Justinia would do whatever was necessary to restore order. The lives of individuals mattered little in the balance against the lives of hundreds, even thousands, that stood to be saved or lost; the Left Hand of the Divine knew this better than anyone.

Talia met her eyes, seeing that painful knowledge sink its claws deep, soothing the hurt with another gentle kiss. "He wouldn't be the man he is, the man that the Most Holy needs, without Bethany and little Leli, and the Divine knows that. It's the other templars that worry me." She shook her head grimly. "The order is completely fractured. I saw it wherever we went. Too damn many of them have turned into mage hunters, and are no longer looking for guidance from the Chantry or the moderates. They've been waiting for an excuse to strike out, and now they have it. What about you?" Talia looked to Wynne curiously. "As good as it is to see you, I'm doubting this is a social call."

"You didn't come here with Wynne?" Leliana asked in puzzlement.

Talia shook her head. "Just a happy accident. When she came in, I barely had enough time to enlist her before you got here."

Leliana studied her with narrowed eyes. "Did Josephine sneak you in here?" _That_ was why the little sneak had been looking so smug!

The Warden shook her head again. "She knew about it. I've been hiding out in the Antivan Embassy the last couple of days, but my chief co-conspirator is of much higher rank."

"Justinia?"

A nod now, Talia looking most pleased with herself. "She talked me into surprising you tonight. I was originally going to attend the ball. Had a mask picked out and everything." The look that she gave Leliana was a significant one; Talia loathed the custom of masks. Only for Leliana might she have worn one. "But she seemed to think that jackass Gaspard might try the same provocation that he attempted with Arl Teagan a few weeks back." Her lips curled in a wolfish smile. "I don't fight with feathers."

Definitely the more prudent course, although - "The Grand Duke is not in attendance tonight," Leliana remarked, frowning. She had made note of his absence earlier, but had not yet had the time to consider its significance, particularly in light of others who were not present...

"Shall we go?" Talia suggested, tipping her head toward the door invitingly. "We could find a decent tavern, get caught up?"

Oh so tempting, but - "I can't," Leliana replied, shaking her head, duty warring with desire. "I am one of the Most Holy's attendants tonight. She had asked me to meet with Wynne, but after, I must -"

Talia was chuckling before she'd finished speaking. "Wrong, my love. I've received very specific instructions from Her Eminence to spirit you out of the palace and keep you from your duties for no less than three days, after which I intend to -" She stopped, her head coming up, posture suddenly alert; almost immediately, Leliana heard it, too.

Screams. Shouting.

"Go!" Talia released her and was on her heels as she threw open the door and raced toward the ballroom, the screams growing louder and the smell of smoke and burning flesh rising in the air.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My muse has taken a decidedly sadistic turn. Trying to weave together events from games, books, graphic novels and my own headcanon is damned tricky. The conversation between Leliana and Evangeline was quoted directly from 'Asunder', but seen here through the bard's eyes instead.
> 
> I did think about having Talia show up at the ball itself, but decided that would be a bit too showy. As Justinia's Left Hand, Leliana's public presence would need to be low key, and a public reunion with her lover would be like advertising a weakness in neon lights.
> 
> I'm trying not to mess too much with the events from the books, and fortunately, Leliana was not front and center for most of them, leaving me with a good deal of latitude as to what she will be doing. At the ball in 'Asunder', she does leave to meet with an old friend from Ferelden, who is presumably Wynne, and enlisting Wynne into helping Talia surprise Leli was almost too easy. I snuck Josie in just because I could.
> 
> As I worked my way through Inquisition, the changes in Leliana were striking. Justinia's death obviously changed her, but it is a change that I think began well before, when she was the Left Hand of the Divine. In the game, the relationship with the Warden seems to have very little bearing on the direction that her character develops in; I'm sure you can guess what Talia's opinions on that are, and things are likely to get heated in more ways than one once they are finally alone.


	4. Through The Fire

Fear sparked in Talia's chest, racing through her veins as she sprinted behind Leliana: a wildfire that wanted to sear away reason, control and everything else but the need to fight, to kill. The impulses behind the berserker's rages had never fully left her, but she had learned to recognize the signs, channel the fury, bend it to her will. As her control had improved, the occurrences had grown rarer, but some triggers remained, none more sure than a threat to her bard.

She was unarmed, unarmored; Starfang and Griffin's Claw had been left behind in her room at the Antivan Embassy. _Stupid!_ With the tensions simmering toward a boil in Orlais, even more than the rest of Thedas: humans against elves, mages against templars, the sodding Archduke against Empress Celene … to be fool enough to think that even the Imperial Palace could be immune to the chaos that threatened to consume the empire. _Idiot!_

Smoke billowed out of the ballroom from doors flung open, revelers pouring out in a mindless stampede that blocked the guards trying to get in. Some fell down, and were trampled beneath the feet of those behind them, their screams lost in the cacophony. From somewhere beyond the doors came the crash of shattering glass as others broke out the tall windows in their frantic attempts to flee the blaze.

Closer, and Talia could see the flames licking hungrily at those who sought to escape, taking hold in voluminous skirts, velvet surcoats, elaborately coiffed hair. Leliana never paused, shoving her way through, ignoring the ones that she pushed past, and Talia followed her, grunting and shoving until she burst through into an inferno.

"Leli!" Her shout was lost beneath the roar of the flames and the screams. The tapestries on the walls were ablaze, as were the heavy velvet drapes that framed the windows. The bunting that had ornamented the high ceiling had become a sky of flame, raining burning fabric down from above. Talia dodged one, hissed as another hit the side of her neck, beat it away before her own clothes caught as she spun in search of her lover. _"Leli!"_

She spotted her racing toward the far side of the ballroom. Justinia was backed against the wall, headdress gone, robes miraculously not burning, but cornered by a balding man in black velvet with hands wreathed in flame who advanced with implacable purpose. A mage, intending to kill the Divine with magic … and Leliana, hurling herself between Justinia and death, blades bared. Talia didn't waste time screaming; she ran, knowing that she would never get there in time.

Behind the mage, an armored figure rose from a crouch: a templar, face seared by flame, power evidently exhausted, launched herself at the assassin's back with a defiant shout. Her gauntleted hand snagged the collar of his surcoat and dragged him backward, the flame that would have engulfed Leliana and Justinia shooting heavenward to add to the inferno overhead. He landed on the floor with the templar on top of him; he clawed at her eyes, but she drove her fist into his face again and again, and he stiffened, then went limp.

"Go!" Talia called to Leliana, who caught Justinia's arm and tried to pull her toward the doors.

"No!" The Divine's face was pale, but she remained calm, refusing to be moved. "Evangeline!" She pointed to the templar, who had collapsed atop the mage, dead or unconscious.

"I've got her!" Talia shouted. _"Go!"_ She ran to the fallen templar; the woman was not petite, and wearing full plate. Knowing better than to waste time trying to lift her, she grabbed an arm and pulled, dragging the woman toward the door, but a glance over her shoulder told her that it was too late. The room was fully ablaze, fire swirling all around and overhead, turning the air into a forge that seared the lungs with each breath, blistered the skin. She saw one of the burning scraps of bunting fall on Justinia's robes, saw the flash of Leliana's daggers as the Left Hand cut the Divine free of her ceremonial garb as the flames consumed it, leaving her clad in the lightweight shift worn beneath, and then the two of them were drawing back to the center of the room with Talia, where a lack of anything highly flammable had created a small area of sanctuary that would not last; the polished wooden floor was beginning to take fire in the heat, the crack of the boards audible beneath the roar of the flames and the screaming that, Talia realized, had grown more distant. The burning ballroom was empty save for the dead, the dying – and them.

Leliana's eyes, wide with terror, met hers, her hand reaching out as she mouthed _"I'm sorry!"_. Talia released her grip on the templar's arm with one hand, shaking her head hard as their fingers laced. It was _not_ going to end like this! A flaming chunk of bunting fell squarely on the bard, and Talia let the templar's arm drop as she leaped forward, Justinia's hands beside hers, helping to beat out the fire. The Divine's face was grave but calm, and grimly determined, blue eyes paler than Leliana's seeking out Talia's gaze.

"Take her!" she urged the Warden, nodding toward the shattered windows and the night beyond. "Go! You can make it!"

She was right, but she'd have to drag Leliana away from Justinia, and if she was going to have to drag somebody … "Sorry, Your Eminence!" she shouted, bending and hoisting the Divine over her shoulder like a sack of potatoes before she could protest or draw back. She could carry Justinia, Leliana could follow. The templar … Maker forgive her, but she couldn't save them all. Hopefully, she would never regain consciousness. She felt hands beating at her back, hoped the woman didn't have any concealed daggers within reach as she turned to Leliana, seeing comprehension already washing through her lover's expression.

"Come -" she started, then stopped in startlement as the wind hit her face. Cold and drenched in moisture, it was almost lost beneath the heat of the flames, but it quickly grew stronger, coming not from the windows, but from the doors and the corridor outside. Leliana turned, her lips forming a single word lost beneath the roar of the fire:

_Wynne._

The mage strode through the mix of steam and smoke, hands moving in fluid gestures and lips forming the indistinct words of the spell. Any hint of advancing age had vanished as she bent the elements to her will: an archmage commanding magics well above those that had already been unleashed. The wind intensified, and now Talia could smell the snow as it swept around them and upward, the cold air a blessing to her blistered cheeks. Wynne stopped a few feet from them, in the very center of the inferno, her face set in concentration, as she set ice against fire, poured her power into the spell, smothering the flames with the moisture, then cooling the embers so they would not re-ignite.

The Warden cautiously lowered Justinia back to the floor. "Maker be praised," the Divine murmured, watching Wynne briefly before moving to kneel beside the fallen templar, giving Talia a reproachful look that the Warden ignored.

"Another mage!" One of the palace guards charged across the ballroom, sword drawn, ignoring the the Captain's shouted orders to stand down. Wynne was focused completely on the spell, her back to the threat, and Talia moved to intercept him, ignoring Leliana's cry of alarm. Unarmed was not the same as helpless; she had learned much from her lover on how to disarm an opponent, and a large part of the last year of her life had been spent on the deck of the Wicked Grace, sparring with a canny pair of rogues in close confines that had further honed her skills.

Stepping in, she caught the wrist of his upraised sword arm in both hands, letting his momentum carry him forward as she twisted. She was in no mood to be gentle with the fool; as the sword tumbled out of his fingers and clattered to the scorched floor, there was a dull crack in the vicinity of his elbow, and he screamed in pain. Ignoring it, Talia took him down with a leg sweep, pinning him on his belly with her knee in the center of his back.

"She just put out the damn fire, you jackass!" she informed him through gritted teeth.

"She's a fucking mage!" he snarled, the words twisting into a cry of pain as her grip on his arm tightened. The battle rage, denied any other target, was all too eager to seize upon this one, and killing him would be easy, even without weapons -

"Talia."

She looked up into blue eyes that had lost none of their calm authority with the passing of years.

"Let him go," Wynne instructed her gently. Few issued orders to her these days, but Talia obeyed without protest, though she remained poised to intervene if he thought to resume his attack.

"Philippe, you damned fool!" The Captain of the palace guard, Ser Rischard Boucher arrived, glaring at his subordinate with scant sympathy as he struggled to his feet, cradling his broken arm. "A thousand apologies, Madame, for this churl's barbarity." He bowed deeply to Wynne. "We are in your debt." Worried eyes finally identified the Divine as she rose from beside the fallen templar, and he sagged visibly in relief. "And yours also, my - Warden!" His eyes widened as he recognized the face beneath the soot. "I did not know you had returned." She had assisted the city guard on more than one occasion over the years, and Rischard had been promoted from their ranks; their relationship was one of friendly professionalism.

"It was supposed to be a surprise," Talia told him, shaking her head ruefully as she surveyed the destruction, the sobs and screams of the injured and frightened all too clear now that the roar of the flames had stopped.

"If this was your idea of a surprise, I'll thank you to refrain from surprising anyone else within the city." The jest was a grim one, his face bleak as he looked around.

"Your man is injured, Captain." Wynne stepped forward, but Philippe shrank back distrustfully, and the captain shook his head.

"Others need your care, Madame, and a few weeks in a splint will remind this oaf that orders are to be followed."

Wynne shook her head. "I would heal him, if he is willing." She waited for Philippe's head to jerk in a curt nod before stepping forward and laying gentle hands on the broken arm, the words of the spell no clearer with her only a couple of feet away, the power that they channeled more focused. The taut lines of pain on the man's face smoothed, color returning to ashen cheeks, but his regard of the mage was no less fearful, and his muttered thanks was offered only after a cuff to the head from his captain.

"And now that you've both arms, you can start your month of cleaning the middens," the officer growled, giving him a shove toward the doors.

"Wynne!" Justinia's worried voice summoned the mage to the injured templar as Leliana strode over to Talia and the Captain.

"How did that mage gain access to a ball at the Imperial Palace?" she demanded, the singed robes and soot-stained cheeks not diminishing the authority that she projected in the slightest.

"My lady, that is an answer that you will have as soon as I discover it," Rischard promised grimly. "We have sealed off the grounds and summoned other templars; if any mages remain concealed among the guests, we will find them."

Leliana nodded, then her blue eyes went as cold as the Frozen Sea. Following her gaze, Talia saw a trio of women in Chantry robes approaching hesitantly.

"Captain Rischard, have the Divine's coach brought round immediately," Leliana instructed, turning to the women as he passed the order on to a subordinate. "You are to return to the Grand Cathedral by the quickest route and inform them of the attack, and that Her Eminence is alive," she told them flatly. "You will then instruct them to send attendants who will not abandon the Divine to save their own skins."

"She told us to run," one of the three spoke up, then drew back as Leliana stepped closer.

"And I am telling you that if you are ever faced with such a choice again and you run, keep running," she told them in a deadly quiet voice. "Because I will kill you myself, when I catch you. Now go!"

She watched them scurry away, her features set into a steely mask beneath the ash. "Have your men follow the coach at a distance," she ordered Rischard calmly. "If they are ambushed, keep at least one of the attackers alive for questioning." Talia understood: if the mage had been part of a conspiracy, others could be lying in wait on the route between the palace and the Grand Cathedral to intercept a coach rushing the Divine to safety. The disgraced priests were to be used as bait to lure them out.

Rischard grasped her intent, as well. "The templars should be here shortly," he began. "Perhaps we should wait ..." He trailed off as icy blue eyes fixed on him.

"You will not wait," she informed him in a tone that did not invite contradiction. "Any delay will give accomplices time to scatter and devise another plot. We have this chance to catch them unaware, and we will not waste it."

Captain Rischard swallowed once, then nodded. Talia kept her features schooled into a neutral expression as he walked away, waiting until he was out of earshot before speaking.

"If a conspiracy exists, there could well be other mages waiting for that coach."

"I am aware of that." Blue eyes turned to her now, and while their regard was not so cold as what Rischard had received, neither was there any hint of the warmth that had been present so short a time ago. The Left Hand of the Divine faced her now, making no attempt to hide her displeasure at being challenged in this.

Talia pushed ahead. "Without templars to counter their spells, everyone in that coach will likely die before the soldiers can intervene."

"A risk we must take," came the chillingly dismissive reply. "The safety of Divine Justinia is all that matters; all other considerations are of no concern."

"Perhaps I should accompany them, then." The words escaped her before she could censor them. She knew why Leliana was acting like this, but that didn't mean that she liked it.

Hurt rippled briefly in her lover's face before the mask slid back into place. "Do as you wish," Leliana snapped, turning away from her. "You always do."

_Ouch._ The words were not entirely unfair, but nor were they completely fair, either. She had chosen to leave a year ago ... but Leli had chosen to stay, chosen her duty to Justinia over Talia. The absence of her lover had been a near-physical ache that had gnawed at her through the long months, tugging at her heart the way that true north pulled a compass needle. Again, she knew why her lover was acting this way, but it did not lessen the sting.

_Sod it._ She'd been bluffing, anyway. If any viable threat still existed, her place was here with Leliana and Justinia. She trailed behind as the Left Hand returned to the Divine, who was watching as Wynne healed the templar.

"I did tell them to run," Justinia said quietly. "There was nothing they could have done against a mage."

"That changes nothing, Your Eminence," Leliana replied, her expression impassive. "For all I know, one of them could have been involved." The Divine accepted this with a nod, a hint of sorrow visible in her eyes, but she made no attempt to contramand the orders that had been given. Protecting her own holy conscience, letting her Left Hand order three women to what could well be their deaths on her behalf. A part of Talia wanted badly to hate her.

And yet ...

She had been willing to risk her own life on behalf of the templar, willing to get Talia and Leliana to safety, even if it meant that she perished in the fire. A very mortal woman, carrying a burden that mortals had surely not been meant to bear. The former Commander of the Grey knew what it was to have the power of life and death over another, and no choice but to use it, to watch an innocent die. It killed a part of you each time.

"Your Eminence, we should get you to a more secure location, until sufficient reinforcements arrive to escort you back to the Grand Cathedral in safety," Leliana said. Left unspoken but clear was that she did not trust the palace guards with such a task. "I suggest that we repair to your suite to wait." The rooms were spacious but secure, with a single door for access and stout latches on the windows.

Justinia hesitated, looking to the prone form of the templar.

"Evangeline is stable, Your Eminence," Wynne reported as she rose from where she had been kneeling at her side. The blistered skin of the young woman's face was healed, fair beneath the grime of soot. "She'll likely remain unconscious for some time yet. I would recommend that she be moved outdoors into the fresh air. There is still smoke in her lungs that she'll need to cough out."

"See to it," Justinia instructed the guards who had drawn closer upon their Captain's departure. "And watch over her until the other templars arrive." As three of them moved to obey her, she turned to Wynne. "Come along; we've much to discuss."

"Many still need healing," the mage protested, looking toward the terrace where the injured were being moved, but the Divine shook her head.

"You've pushed yourself too far as it is," she said firmly. "You're paler than Evangeline. The mages from the Spire will be here soon enough."

Wynne offered no further argument, and she did not refuse when Talia offered her an arm, leaning into the Warden as Leliana led the way out of the smoking ruin of the ballroom. In the corridor, Talia spotted Josephine helping another woman toward the terrace; the Antivan was soot-stained and disheveled, but appeared otherwise unharmed, and Talia sighed in relief.

Wynne followed her gaze. "A friend?"

Talia nodded. "One of Leliana's oldest." And one of the few in this damned city of masks and intrigues that Talia trusted.

"A rare thing in Val Royeaux," the mage observed.

"Extremely rare," she agreed, trying not to sound as jaded as she felt. She'd not be shedding tears for most of the ones who had died tonight; vipers, the lot of them, hiding their fangs behind false smiles and insincere words until they saw an opening to strike. She'd confounded them when she refused to play their Game, alarmed them when they realized that she understood its workings nonetheless, appalled them when she had dragged one spy that she had caught trailing her back to his employer and threatened to thrash them if they sent another. Such things were simply not done. They pretended to ignore her now, watching her all the while like a half-tamed wolf that might either bite or piss on the rug.

"And yet, you are here." The blue eyes were gentle, a hint of amusement beneath the understanding that meant that Wynne had likely heard some of the stories.

She shrugged. "This is where Leli is," she said simply, and that was true as far as it went. Leliana's own reasons for being here were far more complex than gratitude to Dorothea for her aid so many years ago, and Wynne knew nothing about those reasons. Only Leliana, Talia and Alistair knew the whole of it … and Morrigan, wherever she had gone with her son. Alistair's son. Maker willing, that was all that would ever need know.

Once inside the suite with the door secured, Leliana and Talia moved in different directions, no communication needed as they checked every window, searched every potential hiding place, no matter how small. Only after all potential points of access or surveillance had been cleared did they rejoin Wynne and Divine Justinia in the antechamber.

"What happened?" Leliana asked Justinia, who had garbed herself in the simpler robes that she wore from day to day, her voluminous robes of state being ill suited to doing much more than sitting. And burning; they had gone up quickly once they had caught.

"The ball was winding down," the Divine began, her voice steady, features focused as she set herself to recall the minute details that might have escaped her conscious notice at the time. She might no longer answer to her old name, but she had not forgotten the skills that she had learned as Dorothea. "I began to deliver the speech I had planned, and I chose to leave the dais and move among them to do so." The look that she gave her Left Hand said plainly that she knew what the response to that choice would be.

"That was foolish," Leliana told her with a bluntness that she would only use away from the public. "They have no love for you, and more than one would prefer the Sunburst Throne to be vacant again, to have a chance at elevating a Divine more to their preferences."

"They grew accustomed to Beatrix in her dotage," Justinia replied, unperturbed at the rebuke. "They see the Divine as an ornament: a quaint relic, like a family heirloom to be brought out on special occasions and admired, then put away until they wish to look upon it again." A hint of humor touched her voice as she added, "I think that most of them were surprised that I could walk."

"Not the first time you've surprised them," Talia murmured wryly. As was traditional, Beatrix had designated her successor prior to her death. Revered Mother Dorothea's past had caused concern among Chantry traditionalists, but tradition won out in the end, and Orlesian nobility had anticipated the ascent of a Divine who could be induced to play the Game, her edicts and stated ideals influenced by favors or coin. What they had ended up with had been very different, and neither the traditionalists nor the nobility had been pleased when Divine Justinia V had almost immediately begun to display a progressive mindset combined with a piety that could not be swayed by bribe or threat.

"No, it is not," Justinia admitted with a rueful chuckle before growing serious again. "Still, they were at least listening to what I said, and Evangeline accompanied me. I did not get very far though. I had barely begun to speak of changing the way that mages are viewed and treated when he confronted me."

"What did he look like?" Leliana wanted to know.

"No different than any of the other guests," Justinia replied, brow furrowed in recollection. "He was older, balding, with brown eyes. He wore a black velvet surcoat with a white silk shirt beneath and a scarlet cummerbund. He wore a mask, of course."

"Whose?" Talia's question earned her an approving look from Leliana, but Justinia shook her head.

"He removed it almost as soon as he revealed himself, but the colors, the patterns were not those of any of the noble houses. It was simple: white with crimson border and accents, and no ornamentation."

Of course, it could not have been that easy, but even a red herring, meant to frame another house for the act, would have given them someplace to start from. "A man wearing a blank mask shows up at an invitation-only ball and gets admitted?" Talia demanded irritably of no one in particular. That particular custom exemplified to her the nearly imbecilic dichotomy of the Game: the right mask could gain one admittance into nearly any noble house in the Empire with no questions asked. Each house had its own colors and patterns, with the servants wearing simple versions of those displayed by their masters. In theory, an assassin could don such a mask, stroll by the guards and wreak havoc, but that was another of those things that simply was not done in the Game. Maker help them all if Talia ever decided to start thinning out their inbred ranks; she knew just how to go about it.

"If he presented an invitation, the blank mask should have drawn the attention of the guard who admitted him," Leliana said. "They will remember him, and hopefully anyone he arrived with. But it is possible that he snuck in. Or was let in." Her expression did not bode well for whatever guard might be responsible for the latter scenario.

"Do you think he was an apostate?" Wynne asked. "Perhaps a noble himself?"

The Divine shook her head. "The things he spoke of, the way he said them: the disbanding of the College of Enchanters, silencing 'our' leaders … he belonged to a Circle. Most likely the White Spire."

The mage's expression grew even graver. "The templars' vigilance has only increased since the destruction of the chantry in Kirkwall. A lone mage, regardless of skill, could not have escaped the Spire and infiltrated the ball without assistance."

"From templars, you mean?" Talia didn't need Wynne's grim nod to know the answer. This just kept getting better and better.

"And likely others, as well," Leliana finished, her eyes as hard as sapphires. "Who knew that you were coming, that I would be leaving the ball to meet with you?" Talia's eyes widened at the question directed at Wynne, but Leli was already turning to her. "And who knew that you would be there?"

"Josephine," Talia shot back, meeting her lover's stare, all but daring her to accuse the Antivan, "and her," she added with a sardonic quirk of her lips, nodding toward Justinia.

Blue eyes flashed fire. "Do not mock me!" Leliana warned her angrily. "This is no game!"

Talia felt her own temper fraying. "In case you've forgotten, I was nearly roasted alive with the rest of you!" she snapped. "And murder is _part_ of the Game in this shithole of a country, but accusing friends -"

"I accused no one!" Leliana shot back defensively, "But a careless word, spoken where the wrong ears can hear -"

"Peace." Justinia stepped between them with an expression of gentle reproach. "The timing may have simply been coincidence."

"You know better than that," Leliana replied, her expression bleak. "There is no such thing. If I had been there -"

"You would have died," the Divine told her firmly. "This was a mage of no small power, and when Evangeline foiled his initial spells, he used blood magic. He very nearly killed a trained templar; you would have stood no chance. No one save me knew that Wynne would be there, and even I did not know exactly when; her mission is too delicate and too important to risk compromise – and can be discussed after we have all had some rest," she added, plainly seeing the question that Talia wanted to ask.

Talia accepted that with a nod, then tensed at the sound of a knock, stepping between Justinia and the door as Leliana moved to answer it.

It was Ser Rischard. "The coach made it to the Grand Cathedral without incident," the Captain reported. "It has returned with a sizable contingent of guards, and templars and mages have arrived from the Spire, as well. No other mages have been found among the remaining guests, and we are releasing each after obtaining a written statement. Those who are injured are being healed by the mages, and the dead are being identified for notification of next of kin."

"How many?" Justinia asked softly.

"A dozen," Rischard replied. "Bad, but not as severe as it might have been without Madame's intervention." He bowed again to Wynne, who inclined her head graciously, blue eyes sad.

"And the mage?" Leliana asked, seemingly unmoved by the tally of the dead.

"Burned beyond recognition," Rischard told her, "but the templars assure me that if he is of the Circle, his phylactery can be used to identify him."

"If he is of the Circle, he should not have been outside it," Leliana retorted sharply. "Much less inside the Imperial Palace trying to assassinate the Divine." She drew a breath, let it out in a hiss of frustration. "Has Ser Evangeline awakened?"

"I believe she has," Rischard replied.

Leliana nodded. "Have the coach prepared to leave immediately," she instructed him, "and I want the full guest list and guard roster delivered to me as soon as it is ready." After he had gone, she turned to Justinia. "I will speak with Evangeline; it may be that she recognized the mage. After that, I will arrange an escort of guards and templars to accompany us back to the Grand Cathedral."

"You are supposed to be taking the night off," Justinia reminded her gently, but her Left Hand shook her head.

"Now is not the time for such things," she declared, refusing to even look at Talia. "Not until we have discovered who is behind this. I will return with an escort when it is time to depart."

"What do you want me to do?" Talia asked quietly. The anger that had tried to rise earlier had departed, leaving in its wake a weary frustration that intensified when her lover turned away.

"As I told you before, do as you wish," Leliana said tonelessly, her voice as masked as Talia knew that her face would be. Now she _didn't_ understand what was going on, but she did not follow when Leliana left.

"She doesn't mean it," Justinia told her gently. "She needs you."

And for nearly a year, she hadn't been here … but damn it, it wasn't as though she had been on a sodding holiday. It didn't matter; she would do as Leliana had told her and do as she wished … which actually coincided with duty, for a change.

"I'll wait here and see your coach on its way," she told the Divine. "Then I'll go to the embassy, collect my things and come to the Grand Cathedral." And if Leliana locked her out of their rooms, she'd sleep on the floor outside the door.

Justinia nodded. "I am sorry," she said regretfully. "I know this was not the reunion you were hoping for."

Talia managed a wan smile, though her chuckle sounded forced in her own ears. "I doubt this is how you thought the day might end when you got up this morning."

"It is a possibility that I must consider every day," the Divine said. There was no self-pity in her tone, and the sorrow in her eyes was not for herself. "I knew when I accepted this office that the changes I intended would not be made peacefully. Lives have been lost because of my choices; thirteen more tonight. I would change places with any of them, if I could."

"But if you die, your changes will die with you," Wynne spoke up, always the voice of reason, and Justinia nodded.

"And those who have died will have done so for nothing," she finished for the mage, looking even wearier than Talia felt, and older than the Warden could ever remember seeing her. "I will live, and see this through, if the Maker allows it. I only hope that I am truly doing His will."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the angst; I started writing this chapter intending to end it with Talia and Leli returning to her room at the embassy together, but the deeper I got, the less plausible it felt, and then they both started getting snippy. They'll work it out.
> 
> The overall plot is starting to come into clearer focus; as I was re-reading Asunder to get a feel for the timeline, I realized that the assassination attempt is never addressed again as far as finding out who was behind letting the mage out of the White Spire and getting him into the ball. In the book, Wynne observes that it would have been all but impossible without the help of a templar, but that's as far as it goes. Is it dealt with in any other source material? Because I haven't been able to find it, and gaping logic holes like that make me nuts. The leader of the Chantry is nearly killed by a Circle mage practicing blood magic, who had to have had templar aid, and nobody tries to figure out who was behind it? Seriously? Damn it, Gaider, you know better than that.
> 
> But it did give me a good reason why Talia & Leli wouldn't be accompanying Wynne and Shayle on the road trip to Adamant. It would have been cool, yes, but I didn't want to do a total rewrite of the book. There will be some overlap at the end of the timeline, at the point where Leliana reappears in the book, but this story will be focused on the search for those behind the assassination attempt.
> 
> The fire scene was a bit more lengthy and detailed than in the book, but that seemed acceptable since the POV character in the book at that point was unconscious for most of it. And I had Wynne put out the blaze, because the water bucket brigade just didn't sound like it would cut it. And can I just say that I'm a bit miffed that Evangeline & Rhys don't have even a speaking cameo in DA:I? I mean, I was glad to see them mentioned as a mission focus, but they really felt like they would have been natural character additions to the Inquisition.


	5. From The Ashes

Leliana heard the key in the lock; she did not raise her eyes from her work.

Talia had escorted them to the coach, dark eyes warily searching every shadow. She had told Leliana of her intention to retrieve her things from the Antivan embassy and come to the Grand Cathedral. Leliana … had nodded and climbed into the coach before the Warden could kiss her. She didn't see the hurt, then the stubbornness, flare on Talia's face, but the gentle reproach in Justinia's expression, the puzzlement and concern in Wynne's, told the tale clear enough. She pretended not to see, turning her mind to the things that would need to be done: messages to be sent, putting agents on the hunt for any leads; the guest list and guard roster to be reviewed and cross-referenced with existing lists of individuals known or suspected to be hostile to the Divine; a location arranged to interrogate any suspects apprehended … a location well away from the Grand Cathedral and the Most Holy.

These were the things that Justinia's Left Hand must be focused upon now, and not the personal cares that had distracted her before. If she thought too deeply on just what that distraction had almost cost her … no, she would not. She wrapped herself in the mantle of her duty, but rather than warming her, this unseen cloak was one of ice, freezing emotion and passion, leaving only cold reason and logic.

Once returned to the Cathedral, she had evaded Wynne's attempts at conversation, seeing Justinia safely ensconced in her own rooms under guard and their guest shown to suitable quarters before returning to her own suite. She had bathed; the stench of smoke in her hair, the ash smudged on her skin were reminders that threatened to sear through her icy calm. They had to go. After, she had dressed in the priestly robes that were her usual garb when she attended Justinia, identical to the ones that had been burned beyond repair tonight; those had been tossed in a heap outside the door for the servants to dispose of. The lists she had requested had been delivered soon after, and she had retired to study off the sitting room that served as her office.

No windows to offer a distracting view or ingress to an intruder. Wall, ceiling, floor made of thick stone that would defy all efforts at eavesdropping. The walls held no art: only maps, bookshelves, notes pinned to cork. Her desk sat in the center: a massive oaken construct, its lines completely utilitarian, its normally neat surface now covered with piles of parchment and paper: reports that she had received from her agents stationed across Thedas in the last few weeks. She had missed something, somewhere: a clue, a stray word, a seemingly insignificant overheard conversation that had presaged tonight's attack. She must have.

She'd left the door to her office open, so the sound of the door to the sitting room opening and closing was clear. Besides Justinia, only one other person possessed a key to this suite; she had more than half expected for Talia to remain at the embassy tonight, but still she did not look up, continuing to shuffle through reports from Jader, Montsimmard, Val Chevin, Cumberland, as footsteps trod across the carpet of the sitting room, a shadow falling across the doorway a moment before Talia appeared in it.

"Hey," the Warden said quietly, and now Leliana did look up. She'd changed out of her singed clothes, and looked to have taken the time to bathe, as well, her face clean and her hair neatly braided. Another night, this moment would have gone differently, should have gone differently. They would have shared a bath, and -

"Are you injured?" she asked, resolutely pushing aside those thoughts. "Do you need healing?" Her voice was calm, dispassionate, but even as part of her cringed to hear it, she couldn't help it, couldn't push past the mantle of ice she had wrapped herself in, couldn't set aside the mask that she had worn for so long now.

Couldn't.

The thought should have terrified her, but she could not even feel that. The Left Hand could not be hampered by emotion.

Talia shook her head. "Josie cornered me before I left the Palace and had one of the mages patch me up. It wasn't anything more than a burn or two, but it doesn't hurt to smile now."

She offered a cautious example that Leliana could not return. Josie. Her dearest friend in Val Royeaux, but the familiar manner in which Talia had spoken her name ignited a spark of something hot and unpleasant in the midst of the ice. Two days, Talia had said.

"That was kind of her," she observed briskly. "You enjoyed your visit with her, I trust?"

"I'd have rather been visiting with you," Talia replied mildly, refusing to take the bait, "but the Most Holy assured me that you were on a vital mission, and implied that my presence could endanger your life." She cocked her head, studying Leliana's expression. "Not so much, then?" she asked, a glint appearing in the dark eyes.

"It _was_ a vital mission," Leliana told her, "and while it is unlikely that my life would have been endangered by your presence, the success of the mission might well have been." Justinia knew Talia as well as Zevran had, had known just what words to use to lie without actually uttering an untruth. It should have been a relief, knowing why Talia had stayed away, but it only made the chill deepen.

Talia nodded. "I suppose it's all the same," she observed, "at least, as far as the Divine is concerned."

"Do not judge her!" Leliana said sharply. "She does what she must, as do I."

"As do we all," Talia retorted, impatience beginning to show, dark eyes watching her, silently asking the questions that Leliana knew would be given voice soon. Questions that she dreaded answering.

"Agreed," she conceded wearily. "You should get some sleep."

"So should you," Talia countered, but Leliana shook her head.

"I have too much to do," she said, gesturing at the papers on the desk, but the Warden wasn't buying it.

"Her Eminence intercepted me on my way in and ordered me to see to it that you stopped working and got some rest," she informed Leliana. She cocked her head, a hint of mischief in her eyes. "I could just pick you up and carry you out."

"I'm not a child!" Leliana snapped at her impatiently. "I am more than capable of determining when I need sleep."

"I wasn't exactly thinking about sleeping," Talia replied with a suggestive arch of her eyebrows.

Leliana's lips thinned. The cloak of ice felt as though it were suffocating her now, but it still seemed barely capable of containing the storm of emotion that was trying to break free. "You've been gone nearly a year," she told Talia, her voice tightly controlled. "Given the circumstances, a delay of another night or two hardly seems unreasonable."

"Hardly," Talia echoed dryly, the playfulness giving way before wounded irritation. "Maker, Leli, it's not as though I _wanted_ to be gone that long!"

"No?" Drawing the icy mantle ever closer, Leliana regarded her coolly. "Since I've received all of _two_ letters from you in the past six months, you'll have to forgive me for drawing my own conclusions on the matter."

She dropped her eyes back to the papers on the desk, barely seeing them as she struggled to draw breath. Maker, why was she doing this? It wasn't Talia's fault that Justinia had been attacked; that failure lay at Leliana's feet.

Silence from the door, broken at last by Talia's flat reply. "It was a bit hard to get letters out while we were being held prisoner by the Crows and the Qunari," she said in a low voice, "and news that Maric Theirin was alive and being held by a Tevinter magister wasn't exactly something I could put on paper and risk it being intercepted."

She was gone by the time Leliana looked up in shock, and for a heartstopping moment, the bard was sure that she was leaving, but no … the footsteps receded in the direction of their bedroom, the door opening and closing. She sank back into her chair, thoughts spinning as guilt added itself to the maelstrom that threatened to tear her control asunder. She couldn't let it. Not now.

She sat for several moments, gathering herself, controlling her breathing, before rising to follow, easing the bedroom door open and stepping inside, leaning against it as it closed. Talia's armor and weapons were already settled upon the mahogany rack that had been kept dusted and polished throughout her absence. The Warden was crouched beside the armoire, drawing clothes out of her pack and placing them in the drawers. It was the same pack she had been carrying since the Blight, the original oiled canvas all but lost beneath the multitude of patches, and the sight was such a familiar one that Leliana felt her chest tighten anew. She was back, she was here, she was staying … and that meant that she would learn what Leliana had done in her absence, what she had become.

Talia had not turned, but the set of her shoulders made it plain that she was aware of Leliana's entrance. "A few months ago, Zevran came to Alistair about a rumor that he had heard from a former associate," she began after a silence that lasted long enough that Leliana had begun to think she would not speak at all. Setting the pack aside, she settled to the floor, leaning against the side of the bed, and after a moment, Leliana joined her. "More than a rumor, or he never would have passed it along." Thus began a tale that the bard scarcely would have believed, had the teller been anyone but the woman beside her: a tale that spanned a Crow prison in Antiva City, a ball in Tevinter, a fortress in Seheron and the Fade itself in a search for a king thought lost at sea over a decade earlier.

"He'd been held prisoner all that time?" Leliana asked when she finished, appalled at the grim picture that Talia had painted. That even a Tevinter magister could be mad enough to believe that Calenhad's line carried the blood of dragons in their veins seemed incredible enough, but to hire the Crows to kidnap the Fereldan monarch, steal his blood a bit at a time, year by year, to fuel his mad rituals? And even as she cringed from the horror on a personal level, another part of her was all too aware of the potential political ramifications of what Talia was telling her.

Her lover nodded grimly, her eyes distant. "And he knew what was happening to him," she said softly. "Even trapped in a dream. He saved us in the Fade. We wanted to free him, bring him home to Ferelden, but -" She dropped her head, weary defeat touching her features. "He was too far gone. That damned Magrallen was the only thing keeping him alive. Alistair -" Her eyes closed, the pain on her face making Leliana forget her own woes.

"I am sorry," she whispered, slipping an arm around her lover's shoulders and brushing a few errant strands of hair away from the dear face with gentle fingers. Dark eyes opened to meet hers, and Talia gave her a wan smile.

"It's all right," she replied. "He's at peace now, and he and Alistair even managed to speak in the Fade, say some things that needed to be said." She shook her head bemusedly. "I didn't think we were ever going to break Alistair free of his dream; he wanted it so badly."

"Yes," Leliana agreed softly. To have his father alive and on the throne, acknowledging him openly as a beloved son and brother to Cailan. It would have been difficult indeed to have drawn him away from that. Talia had told her of the dreams that had trapped her companions: Varric's lost love; Isabela's nightmare of a life of enslavement to the Qun; Devon back in Kirkwall with her entire family alive and safe. One dream only she had not mentioned. "What did the Fade try to ensnare you with?"

"You have to ask?" Talia tipped her head back against the bed, smiling gently. "You and me, back at Highever."

After ascending the throne, Fergus and Anora had appointed regents to oversee both of the teyrnirs. Anora had quickly put to rest the concerns about her fertility, giving birth to two sons within five years, and was presently pregnant with a third child. The younger children would inherit the lands in time, with political marriages used to cement ties with key nobles.

The Hero of Ferelden had asked for, and received, title to a high mountain meadow in Highever, and a cottage had been built there: simple but comfortable. Talia and Leliana had stayed there a handful of times, enjoying a peace and privacy that they were seldom afforded elsewhere. It waited for them now, promising a home and rest after their duties released them.

But when would that be?

"Wasn't that hard to break free from, though," Talia went on, watching her. "It wasn't some impossible dream, like it was with the others." She shrugged easily. "All I had to do is wake up and make it home."

But that wasn't quite true, was it? "Talia, I know you miss Highever -"

Her lover shook her head before she could finish. "It's not Highever that's home," Talia told her. "It's you, wherever you are."

The words should have filled her with joy, but Leliana felt the mantle of ice wrapping around her once more. "Does Divine Justinia know?" she asked, withdrawing her arm from around Talia's shoulders and drawing her knees up toward her chest. The chill that encased her touched her voice, and her Warden did not miss it.

"Not yet," she replied, the look of worried puzzlement back. "We can tell her, if you want, but no one else. Not even Cassandra. Varric, 'Bela and Devon all know that it can't be talked about. Alistair will brief Fergus and Anora in private, but more that that ..." She trailed off, shook her head. "Things are tense enough already. If the wrong people found out that the King of Ferelden was kidnapped and tortured by a Tevinter mage … by _any_ mage ..."

Leliana nodded. Such a revelation could be used to further inflame the fear and hostility toward mages. "There are those in Ferelden who would push for a declaration of war against Tevinter," she murmured. Fergus would not be one of them. He and Anora had worked hard to achieve stability in Ferelden, and the few that had opposed their rule had long been silent; this could provide an excuse to stir up dissent.

"That, too," Talia agreed grimly. "You'd think that with the world on the edge of a cliff, so many people wouldn't be so eager to give the final shove," she observed, her mouth quirked into a sardonic slant. "Maybe we could toss them into a room with that jackass Gaspard and his lackeys and let them do each other in."

Leliana snorted, the sound devoid of humor. "You've kept up with Orlesian politics, I see."

"I've tried," Talia said softly. "It was the only way I had to find out what might be happening to you." She cocked her head, searching Leliana's face. "What is it?"

"I -" She stopped, fighting the tightness in her chest. Words were her stock in trade, both as tool and weapon; a few words from her had forged alliances, a few more had ended lives. Yet they failed her now, tangled in the emotion that she had kept at a safe arm's length all these long months. "I cut my hair," she blurted, lifting a hand to run her fingers through the shoulder-length tresses.

"I noticed," Talia said simply, brow creasing faintly in puzzlement at the apparent non-sequitur. She said no more, waiting for Leliana to continue.

The bard pushed herself to her feet. "It was easier to take care of," she said, moving to the window, hearing Talia rising behind her. "With so many other things to deal with, it was just one less -"

"Makes sense," Talia replied when she trailed off.

But it didn't, because that wasn't the real reason. "I was angry," she admitted, drawing the curtains back, staring down at the city that spread out in the shadow of the Grand Cathedral. She wielded a power that Marjolaine had only dreamed of achieving, but did she wield it any better than her old bardmaster would have? "I did not see the use of looking beautiful when there was no one here to appreciate it." She had cut her hair when she had escaped Orlais the first time, kept it short during her years in Lothering, let it grow out again at Talia's suggestion. Her lover brushing her hair, Leliana brushing and braiding hers in turn, had been a ritual that both of them had treasured.

"You're still beautiful," Talia told her, stepping around the bed, her approach careful.

"Am I?" Leliana felt her lips curve in a bitter smile. "I have killed people."

"We both have." Another step, the onyx eyes touched with worry, along with the understanding that Leliana both anticipated and dreaded.

She shook her head, swallowing against the tightness in her throat, the panic fluttering in her chest. She could feel the frozen mantle cracking; it had kept her in control all these months, emotions locked away beneath the ice as she donned whatever mask was needed for the task at hand. She'd begun to think them banished, but they had merely been dormant, and now she could feel them fighting the confinement that she tried to impose, stirred back to life by the proximity of the one person who made her everything that she had been taught that a bard could not be. Everything that she had not been, these past months.

_Do you see how she looks at me? That is how she will look at you, once she sees how you truly are. It is only a matter of time._

"You look your opponents in the eyes when you kill them," she told Talia. "I strike from behind, from the shadows: daggers, poisons, a push at the top of a staircase. Most times, I do not even see to the deed myself now. I send others to do my will." As Marjolaine had sent her. "Sometimes, I need not do even that. A rumor placed in circulation, a shameful secret brought to light, a reputation in tatters ... a few have ended their lives by their own hands." That had never been her aim in such matters; removing someone as a credible threat to Justinia and her goals would have been sufficient, but neither had she grieved when word had come of each of the two who had chosen suicide over social disgrace. Not then. But now ...

"I have lied, manipulated, stolen. I -" She swallowed hard again. "I have sent agents to seduce targets, to gain access to information, or to make them vulnerable to blackmail. I have allowed loyal operatives to be imprisoned, tortured, killed, if rescuing them would risk compromising the Most Holy. I have turned wives against husbands, sons against fathers -" The confessions tumbled over each other, the memory of each as fresh in her mind as the day the deed was done, but the pain entirely new, a weakness that she had not permitted herself then.

"For the Maker?" Talia pressed her, still gentle. "Or for Justinia?"

There was no judgment or scorn in her voice, but, as usual, she had cut to the heart of the matter. A day ago, an hour ago, Leliana would have responded to the question by assuming a mask of icy disapproval, but the ice was crumbling, taking her masks with it. "I do not know," she admitted, her voice breaking for the first time, her vision beginning to blur, but when Talia stepped closer, her arms open, Leliana backed away until her shoulders pressed against the cold stone of the wall. "They should be the same; I know that, but -"

"But Justinia is only human." Talia did not close the distance that Leliana had opened between them, didn't get angry, as Leliana had irrationally hoped she would. Anger she could meet with ice, but the understanding, the gentleness, the love ... these were stripping away the last of her barriers, and what should have been a source of happiness, relief, terrified her instead. "And so are you."

"I am the Left Hand of the Divine," she said in a ragged voice. "I cannot afford to be human. The things I must do ... and now you -" She broke off, mouth working soundlessly, the first tears escaping her eyes and rolling down her cheeks. "Talia, I can't do this any more!"

"Can't do ... what?" Her eyes were closed, but she could hear the puzzlement in Talia's voice give way to worry. "Us?"

"No!" She shook her head violently, the denial escaping her in a raw sob.

"Serving as Left Hand, then?" There was far less worry in Talia's tone, but nor was there pleasure, or relief. She knew all of Leliana's reasons for serving Justinia, knew what the older woman was to her, what she represented.

"I cannot," she whispered brokenly. "She needs me, now more than ever."

"Then ... what -"

"I don't _know_!" She wailed, control shattering completely, fisted hands striking the wall as she fought for equilibrium. "I don't know! You have been gone for so long, and I have been here alone with no one to -" No one to confide in, to turn to with her doubts and fears, to make her human in the midst of choices that drew her further from it each day. "And then you come back, and while I was distracted with you, Justinia was nearly killed … and then _you_ nearly died helping me save her! I nearly lost you _both_!" The words were thick, choked off by the sobs that wanted to escape, held back by the last shreds of her will. "I thought I would have to choose between you ... who lived and who - who -" Her throat seized up, refusing to let the word pass. "I cannot do it! I can't!" No matter what she chose, the choosing itself would destroy her. "I can't!" Better that she be the one to die.

"You don't have to." Strong arms encircled her, Talia's voice low in her ear. "You didn't have to choose tonight, and I swear I'll do whatever it takes to make sure you never have to choose." She had never broken a promise to Leliana after the first, but neither did she make the same rash promises that she had as a girl; she could not promise that the choice would never have to be made, so she did not. "I'm here, Leli, I'm here. It's all right. I've got you, love."

She tried to push away, but it was a halfhearted attempt at best, and when Talia refused to let her go, she wrapped her arms around the warrior and held on for dear life as the tears broke free at last. The loneliness and worry of the past months twisted together with the terror of the past hours, and she buried her face in Talia's shoulder, cried as she had not in months. Her Warden held her, and when her knees buckled, lifted her easily and carried her to the bed, stretching out beside her, continuing to murmur reassurances, hands moving gently over her hair, her shoulders and arms, her back. After the tears had finally run their course and ebbed, she fished a handkerchief from the pouch on her belt and offered it to the bard.

"Thank you," Leliana said softly, drawing away just enough to wipe her eyes and blow her nose. "I must look a fright," she murmured ruefully; fair skin never did well with extended bouts of crying.

Talia drew back a bit further, head cocked, regarding her solemnly. "Nope," she said after a long moment of scrutiny. "Still beautiful."

The laugh drawn from Leliana was shaky, but the first in weeks that had not been feigned. "Flatterer." Snuggling back in, she pressed her face into the curve of Talia's neck with a sigh.

"Truth," Talia countered simply, fingers trailing through her hair and along the line of her throat sending a shiver of response through the bard. She lifted her head, meeting Talia's lips with her own, the kiss gentle, quickly turning hungry, and Leliana moaned against her lover's mouth, fingers curving at the nape of her neck to keep her close.

"I missed you so damn much," Talia breathed when they drew apart. "I never wanted to be gone this long."

"You had good reason,"Leliana reminded her, letting her fingers trace the contours of that dear face, breath hitching a bit when Talia caught one fingertip in gentle teeth, the tip of her tongue a teasing flutter that sent a flush racing over her skin. "You could show me how much you missed me," she invited breathlessly.

"I would," Talia replied, "but you seem to have armored yourself." A single finger circled the edge of the high collar of the priest's robe, the gentle gleam of understanding in the dark eyes taking the sting from the reproach. Talia knew why she had garbed herself thusly.

Freed from the need to explain, she let her fears slide away for now and looped her arms around Talia's neck, savoring the warmth of the skin beneath the tunic, the play of the muscles in the strong shoulders. "They are designed to encourage chaste thoughts and actions," she teased.

"They're failing miserably," Talia growled, heated breath ghosting against Leliana's skin as lips found the sensitive spot just beneath her ear. "I've been having unchaste thoughts ever since I laid eyes on you."

Leliana closed her eyes and tipped her head to allow greater access, her breath coming faster. "And what are you going to do about those thoughts?" she inquired.

"Whatever you'll let me do," came the reply as kisses trailed along her throat, lingering where her pulse raced close to the surface.

"Anything," Leliana groaned, her fingers curling into the cloth of the tunic, frustrated at the barrier, needing the feel of her Warden's skin against hers. "Anything, Talia … just love me. Make me forget." The months of loneliness, the dark deeds committed in the name of a greater good, the cold mantle of detachment that had kept her sane, what she had done, what she had become, what she had to continue to be … she could not escape it, but just for tonight, she could lay it aside.

_Please_.

At her words, Talia stilled above her, and the part of Leliana that never stopped hearing Marjolaine's mocking voice braced for rejection, but when her lover drew back, the ebony eyes were filled with infinite tenderness, gentle determination. "No," Talia murmured, shaking her head slowly. "I'll help you remember."

Leliana felt her throat tighten, but then Talia's mouth was on hers again, and she willingly lost herself in the kiss: slow and deep and unhurried. She could feel the urgency in her lover that mirrored her own, the flames flickering at the edges, but Talia maintained control.

"Do you remember Lothering?" Talia whispered when their lips parted. "I'd have killed Loghain's men without thinking twice. I was empty of everything but hate and hurt then. You stopped me. Why?"

"You had beaten them," Leliana replied softly, closing her eyes as kisses feathered gossamer-soft across her cheeks, her forehead. "They could harm you no longer." Even returning to their master, they would have not told him anything that others who had crept from Lothering in hopes of reward had not revealed.

"You told me I was better than that," Talia confirmed. "I didn't feel it then, but you kept asking for mercy for them, even when they tried to kill you."

"You _were_ better than that," Leliana told her earnestly, but Talia shook her head.

"Not without you," she replied, shifting back until she knelt by Leliana's feet. "They'd have been dead. Them and many others. The blood mage we found in the Circle tower." Hands slipped beneath the hem of her robe, warm against the skin of her ankles, gliding up her legs, Talia's gaze never leaving her face. "They had caused so much death, but again, you called for mercy."

"She had been misled, manipulated." She shifted, parting her legs further as Talia moved forward, the heat of her splayed hands moving higher, lifting the edge of the robe as they went. "I knew how that felt, how her own guilt would tear at her as deeply as any lash." A soft gasp escaped her as thumbs grazed over the sensitive flesh of her inner thighs. "She was no less worthy of the chance to atone than I had been." She never found out if the woman had sought redemption with the Chantry, as she had promised to do.

Her Warden's hands moved higher, deft fingers hooking her smallclothes. She willingly lifted her hips, allowing them to be tugged down her legs and off, and then Talia caught her hands, drawing her up until she knelt on the bed facing her lover.

"Zevran," Talia went on, arms sliding around her waist, drawing them together. "He'd never have survived our first meeting if you hadn't spoken for him."

"That was not mercy," Leliana retorted. "It was cold calculation, nothing more. He was more useful alive than dead. I'd have killed him myself if I thought him a threat to you."

"Maybe so," Talia conceded, "but it still brought us a valuable ally … and a good friend." She gripped the material of the robe, lifting it up, and Leliana raised her arms to allow it to be drawn over her head and off, not caring where it fell when Talia released it, because her Warden's mouth was hot against bare skin, claiming a nipple already peaked with arousal, working it with teeth and tongue until she cried out, fingers weaving into the braided hair as the throb of long-denied need between her legs demanded satisfaction. She gripped her lover's tunic, trying to tug at it, but Talia easily evaded the attempt.

"Not yet," she whispered fiercely, pressing Leliana back onto the bed and moving on top of her, the kiss hard and hungry and possessive. "You first," she murmured when they parted. "You." The obsidian eyes burned with an adoration that stole her breath. "It's always been you." A callused hand came up to caress her cheek, then along her neck, then lower, following the curve of a breast, eyes dropping briefly only to return to her face, drinking her in raptly.

"I can't count the number of times I would have fallen," Talia went on softly, her hand gliding over Leliana's belly, fingers tracing feather light patterns that had the muscles beneath quivering in response, hips rocking in silent appeal. "The number of times you saved me from myself."

Lower still, and the first teasing sweep against the damp curls drew a ragged gasp from her lips, caught by the mouth of her Warden, the silken press of her tongue mirroring the fingers that filled her in a single, delicious thrust, holding still for a long moment before returning to motion.

"Lothering, Honnleath, Redcliffe, Kinloch," Talia breathed as she drew back, levering herself onto an elbow, watching her bard's face as her hand matched the soft litany of her words, pressing slow and deep, again and again, Leliana's helpless moans undercutting her words. "Denerim, the Brecilian Forest, Orzammar." She shook her head slowly, a wondering smile touching her lips. "You never stopped believing in me, never let me fall."

"Talia -" Leliana whimpered, one hand dropping to grip her Warden's wrist, hips rocking to take her deeper still, white hot need coiling low in her belly. Maker, it had been so very long! "Talia, yes … yes ... _please_..."

She was close, so very close, and Talia knew it, knew _her_. "I will not let you fall, my love," she vowed, keeping up her gentle cadence, eyes never leaving Leliana's face. "For you are the fire at the heart of my world."

"Blas – blasphemy," she gasped, but those words, that touch, the fierce and honest passion in those dark eyes were the final push that took her over the edge.

"Truth," Talia countered with unshakable conviction as Leliana came undone with a shuddering cry, clinging to her Warden with all her strength.

* * *

When she woke, the light filtering around the heavy curtains that covered the window had the silvered quality of dawn. Rising early was a long habit, but she'd slept with a soundness that she'd not known in many months, secure in the way that only one person could make her feel.

Talia still slumbered, her features relaxed, her arm draped possessively around the bard. Leliana shifted carefully, drawing the blanket downward and peering at her lover in the dim light. Once she'd gotten her Warden out of her clothes, there had been more urgent matters than examining scars, but there _had_ been new ones … and not just one or two.

She let her finger trace the line of one that ran from just above Talia's right hip across her thigh, wincing at the feel of it. It had been deep; the thickness of the pale line made that clear. A puckered knot in her upper arm could only have been made by an arrow, and the thin line that scored a path along a collarbone had almost certainly been made by a dagger's sweep -

"They don't hurt." She looked up, found Talia awake, watching her with a sweet, sleepy smile.

"It hurts to look at them," she murmured, the thought of what might have been an unwelcome weight in her chest. "If I had been there -"

Talia cut her off with a finger to her lips, followed by a tender kiss. "If you'd been there, I'd likely have a scar or two less, and you'd have a scar or three more," she replied matter-of-factly. "None of us left Seheron unmarked."

"Did they … did they hurt you?" The moment the words left her lips, she realized how foolish they sounded, but her lover understood.

"When they weren't trying to kill us, no," she answered with a wry smile, drawing Leliana into her arms. The bard snuggled in with a contented sigh, wondering how she had ever been foolish enough to consider willingly forsaking this. "As prisoners, we were treated reasonably well; evidently, ending a Blight carries some weight with the Qunari. Not enough for them to just give us what we were after, mind you, but at least we got locked up in reasonably comfortable rooms and fed regularly." She hesitated, and Leliana felt the subtle tension in her body. "Bela … wasn't so lucky," Talia admitted heavily. "The Qunari hadn't forgotten her involvement in that mess in Kirkwall, and this time, they wouldn't let Devon fight for her, basalit-an or no."

A shiver ran through Leliana. She'd read the Chantry accounts of the First Battle of Kirkwall and the factors that had led to the Qunari assault on the city. Devon Hawke's intervention had saved Isabela from being taken prisoner then. "What did they do to her?" she asked softly.

"Not sure on the details," Talia replied. "Don't think she's even shared that with Devon, but they tried to convert her to the Qun by force." She snorted. "They seriously underestimated her, though. She escaped, broke the rest of us out, and we managed to convince the Qunari that we'd make better allies than opponents." Her tone was lighter now, and Leliana did not press for greater detail. Not just yet. The story written on her Warden's flesh said clearly enough that the 'convincing' had not been done with words. "Then we all went 'Vint hunting," Talia finished, pressing a gentle kiss to Leliana's forehead. "It's done now, love. I survived, I'm here with you, and that's where I'll stay."

Leliana bit her lip, looking up at her lover. The words were welcome … more than welcome: desperately needed, but - "Talia, you don't need to -"

"Yes. I do." Talia's response was firm, unhesitating. "Justinia is in danger; that means you are in danger, and that means that I'm not going anywhere." She ran gentle fingers through the short red tresses. "It's more than that, though. I knew the toll that this office was taking on you. When I left for Kirkwall, I didn't think I'd be gone longer than a few weeks. I couldn't refuse when Alistair asked for my help, but when I saw what being alone all that time had done to you -" Anger and remorse played across her features. "You should never have had so much asked of you, with so little done to ease the burden of it."

"Do not think ill of Justinia, please, my love," Leliana pleaded softly. "She does only -"

" - what she must," Talia finished for her, "And you do the things that she cannot be known to do." The hard planes of her face softened somewhat. "She means well; I know that, but when she became Divine and asked you to serve as her Left Hand, the world was a very different place." She shook her head, looking troubled. "I don't know if she can stop what has been set in motion. I saw it everywhere we went. The conflict between mages and templars has spread throughout the southern kingdoms, and it's only getting worse. One woman can't stop it. Not her, not you."

"One woman stopped a Blight," Leliana reminded her, trying to smile, but Talia shook her head.

"I killed an Archdemon," she disagreed, "and I'd never have done it without you and Alistair and the rest. There's no Archdemon to be slain here; a system built over centuries is coming undone, and everyone with an agenda is stirring the pot, trying to take advantage. It's going to get worse – a lot worse – before it gets better, and I won't let you face it alone. My place is here, until this is settled."

"I do not know when that will be," Leliana admitted helplessly.

Talia shrugged. "It doesn't matter," she replied. "You must do this, just as I had to do what Grey Wardens do."

"You left the Wardens," Leliana murmured. Left them for her.

"Only after I'd done what needed to be done," Talia countered. "The Archdemon is dead, and so is the Architect. Darkspawn activity in Ferelden has been decreasing every year; Alistair is more than capable of handling it with the Wardens under his command. Now, this needs to be done." Her lips twitched. "Justinia offered me a command position in the Chantry's military arm."

"She did _what_?" Leliana exclaimed indignantly, trying to sit up, but Talia held on to her.

"Peace," she murmured, kissing the top of her head. "I turned her down, and she didn't argue. I don't really think she expected me to accept, anyway."

"Hmmph." The bard nestled back into her lover's embrace. "I _will_ be speaking with her about that. You are mine."

"That I am," Talia agreed readily, hands drifting idly along Leliana's spine, sending a pleasant frisson coursing over her skin.

She cast a reluctant glance toward the window, where the light at the edge of the curtain had grown undeniably brighter. "She'll be expecting us to discuss what happened last night," she said with a sigh.

"Not until lunch," Talia replied, adding in response to the pointed look she received, "That's what she told me last night, after she told me to be sure you got some rest. I'd have mentioned it, but I got a bit distracted."

"I suppose you did," Leliana conceded, not even able to feign disgruntlement. Not with Talia warm in her arms, regarding her with gentle humor and a love that time and distance had not dimmed. "So, we have time, then?"

"Yes, we do," Talia confirmed, allowing herself to be pressed onto her back, drawing Leliana on top of her. "Plenty of time."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Add another medium to the canon gumbo in this mix. We're up to three now, for those of you who are counting: games, books & comics...hell, four if you count the 'Dawn of the Seeker' movie; while I don't anticipate any direct references to that, its portrayal of a young Cassandra definitely influenced my vision of how she and Talia would respond to each other.
> 
> Add in my own head-canon, and sweet Maker, it gets complicated. Fortunately, it should start getting simpler from here on out … for me, anyway. For those of you who find yourselves stuck in WTF-land, I offer sincere apologies that my skills are not up to my vision.
> 
> I will definitely not be doing a fanfic treatment of the comic series, since it would amount to nothing more than tossing Talia and Devon into the established story with Alistair, Varric & Isabela, but I knew when I read the comics that Talia would be there for Alistair & Devon for Bela. Plus, it gave a slightly better explanation for the missing Hero & Champion at the end of DA2 (and by the time BioWare said "Nope, just kidding about them being together!" it had already solidified in my mind).
> 
> Not sure if I managed to convey Leliana's mental state in the first part of the chapter the way I was trying to. I've been there, where emotions are wound so tight that you're afraid to let them loose, and the fears start feeding on each other, winding tighter and tighter until something manages to pull the trigger … and then after the mushroom cloud dissipates and the tears are drying, you can't really remember why you were so damn afraid to let go in the first place. Having someone you trust, someone who knows how to get you to the point where the snap can take place and ease you through it and down, makes all the difference in the world. That's what I was trying to convey, but it's such a chaotic place that even in retrospect, it's difficult to articulate.


	6. Down To Business

Wynne surprised herself by sleeping until nearly midday. Or perhaps it was not so surprising, after all. The magics she had wielded the previous night were greater by far than any she had used since the fight against the Archdemon. Not that she had been idle since then; far from it, in fact. Her role in ending the fifth Blight – a full decade sooner than the last one had been contained, and with only three Grey Wardens to meet the Archdemon in battle – had elevated her status in the eyes of Chantry and mages alike, along with the granting of a nearly unprecedented liberty to travel as she chose, without a templar escort.

Neither gift was one to be squandered; in the ensuing years, she had traveled ceaselessly, visiting Chantries and circles throughout the southern kingdoms, encouraging communication, tolerance, cooperation … and watching with growing disquiet as the balance tipped slowly but inexorably in the opposite direction. Even in her worst imaginings, however, she had never predicted the event that would turn the slide towards conflict into an avalanche.

She still found it difficult to believe that the irreverent, rebellious, but frequently charming young scamp that she remembered from Kinloch Hold had become the embittered and vengeful man who had deliberately plunged mages into open war against templars and Chantry. Not until Talia had confirmed it last night had Wynne fully accepted that Anders had destroyed Kirkwall's Chantry, killed Grand Cleric Elemena and scores of others, as part of some misguided quest for justice. The young man she had known had been dead long before Devon Hawke had ended his life.

But the consequences of his actions had taken on a hellish life of their own, breeding and producing offspring that seemed to grow ever more volatile and bloodthirsty. Last night had not been the worst, in terms of lives lost, but it had very nearly become the trigger that could have brought the rest of the south into the war against the mages and ended any hope of a peace that included any freedom at all for those who wielded magic. The death of a Grand Cleric had been bad enough; the murder of the Divine by a mage would have caused a backlash that would end with every mage in the south either dead, made Tranquil or truly imprisoned.

That had only been part of the reason that she had stepped into the flames, pushed her magic to its limits against them, and not even the largest part at the time. In the midst of the inferno had been two women that she could not have loved more had they been her daughters. Indeed, she knew Talia and Leliana far better than she knew the son she had given birth to, though that had not been by her choice. Seeing them racing headlong into the blaze had galvanized her, and she had summoned her magic without hesitation.

It had been enough, though only by a margin that she did not care to think about, and it had taken more out of her than even the final battle against the Archdemon had. She had been more exhausted than at any other point in her recent memory, but not so far gone that she had missed the friction between Talia and Leliana.

That the two younger women loved each other deeply, Wynne had no doubt, but she had seen bonds of friendship and family torn asunder in this conflict, and Talia's absence, whatever the cause, had clearly been a strain on them both. As worried as she had been, she had been at the end of her reserves the previous night, unable to do more than allow herself to be shepherded to her quarters and change from her singed and soot-stained robes into a nightgown before collapsing into bed without bothering to bathe.

The bath was seen to immediately when she awoke with the scent of smoke lingering in her nose, but she did not soak as long as her aching joints would have liked. She had a mission, and last night's happenings would have complicated it immeasurably.

With a missive slipped under her door in the night that assured her that the Most Holy would be expecting her for brunch, she ignored the faint gnaw of hunger beneath her breastbone (another rarity these days) and dressed in clean robes, leaving a few silvers for the servants that would be dealing with the smoke-tainted robes and bedclothes. Making her way through the halls toward Justinia's private audience chamber, Wynne was pleased to see Talia and Leliana approaching, hand in hand, from the other direction.

"How are you feeling?" Talia asked, relinquishing her lover's hand to embrace the mage, peering worriedly into her face.

"Much better for the rest," Wynne assured her, accepting a hug from Leliana in turn. "And you?"

"Alive and well, thanks to you." The warrior's easy smile, and the absence of last night's tension, answered the question that she had not voiced. "Are we going to hear about this mission of yours?"

"I suspect that is part of Divine Justinia's intent in bringing us together," Wynne replied. "Will I get to find out what you've been up to?"

"I'll tell you what I can," Talia promised, a quick glance to Leliana answered with a nod as they approached the pair of templars stationed outside the chamber, their alertness making it clear that this was no ceremonial honor guard. The three of them were allowed to enter, though Wynne was looked at hard and long before a curt nod signaled that she could pass. She gave them a smile and a nod in turn as thanks, her eyes cautioning Talia against giving voice to her irritation at the scrutiny.

The Divine's formal audience chamber was a grand affair, with the Sunburst Throne in miniature, ornate tapestries displaying Chantry history in appropriately heroic manner and no other chairs, the better to encourage visitors to keep their business brief. This suite had a very different function, its appearance in keeping with its purpose. A broad expanse of windows offered a view of Val Royeaux and the country beyond, and could be opened to admit a bit of fresh air or covered with the crimson velvet drapes that flowed from ceiling to floor on either side, held back by braided satin cords. Instead of tapestries, the walls were adorned with maps. A round table perhaps six feet in diameter sat in the center of the room, surrounded by four chairs, the slightly higher back of one the only indication of any difference in the status of its occupant, who greeted them with a warm smile.

"Good morning. You rested well, I hope?" Keen blue eye scrutinized her closely for a long moment, and despite the fact that Wynne had better than a decade on the Divine, the air of maternal concern was unmistakable. Beneath that, though, the lines of weary care were visible; Divine Justinia had _not_ rested well the previous night.

"Quite well, Your Eminence," Wynne assured her. "My room was most comfortable."

"Better than sleeping on the ground, eh?" Talia asked with a grin.

"I can still manage that, if the need arises," Wynne replied with a smile of her own. Despite the hardships, the year that she had spent with the young Warden and their companions was one that she remembered fondly. She had initially hoped to enlist Talia, at least, to accompany her on the upcoming journey – where she would undoubtedly be sleeping on the ground again – but she'd realized last night that she couldn't ask her to leave Leliana again so soon. And finding those behind last night's attack would be the Left Hand's first priority, as it should be.

Justinia's gaze shifted to Talia. "And you? You didn't have to sleep on the floor, I hope?" The gleam of humor in the blue eyes made it clear that the question was a rhetorical one. Wynne had not been the only one to notice the change in the currents between the lovers.

"Didn't sleep much," Talia quipped with a sly sidelong glance at Leliana, "but we did make it to the bed fairly early on."

Leliana swatted at her shoulder in mock indignation, but her smile spoke volumes, and the faint blush that touched her cheeks was a welcome change from the pale and stony visage that she had worn the previous night. "As if I'd ever make you sleep on the floor!" she exclaimed before schooling her features into a more businesslike mien. "What news has come?" she asked Justinia. "I am sorry that we are so late, but –"

"I'd have been rather put out with both of you if you hadn't been," Justinia interrupted her apology pointedly. "I'd intended for you to take a few days off, but unfortunately, a few hours is all I can spare for now." She shook her head regretfully, then lifted a forestalling hand as a knock at the door brought Talia around with one hand on Starfang's hilt.

"I took the liberty of having lunch brought up," she explained as the door opened to admit two servants bearing loaded carts that they swiftly transferred to the long, elegantly carved sideboard that sat against one wall. Covers were lifted from tureens of steaming soup, platters of sliced meat, roasted vegetables, freshly baked bread, and then the servants departed as quickly and quietly as they had arrived.

"Planning on keeping us here a while, are you?" Talia inquired, eyeing the generous repast with wary interest.

Justinia snorted. "Unless your appetite has changed over the last year, that might last us until mid-afternoon … unless you had breakfast?"

"Busy," the warrior replied promptly and without a hint of self-consciousness as she took up a plate and began filling it with an enthusiasm that indicated that the years had not dampened the notorious Grey Warden appetite.

For her own part, Wynne filled a bowl with a fragrant bouillabaisse, added a thick slice of crusty bread slathered with butter and poured a mug of mulled wine from a clay carafe before settling into one of the chairs at the table. The soup was delicately seasoned, with tender pieces of fish and lobster, scallions and potatoes floating in a savory broth. Granted the rare treat of both an appetite and good food to assuage it, Wynne allowed herself to enjoy the meal, knowing that Justinia would get down to business when she was ready and not before.

"All right," Leliana said at length, setting her empty plate to one side and moving to examine a tray of pastries with a connoisseur's eye. "What news have you received? You know _something_ ; I can tell."

"I know a good many things," the Divine replied to her Left Hand, taking a deep breath and releasing it. "A week ago, word arrived in Val Royeaux of an uprising among the elves of Halimsharal. Empress Celene has shown a willingness to improve the plight of the elves of Orlais, but she could not afford to ignore such an open challenge to her rule. She led a small force to Halimshiral to put down the rebellion." She paused, her expression grave, and Leliana turned away from her inspection of the desserts, regarding her mistress intently. "Early this morning, I received word that the Empress' forces were ambushed in Halimshiral by Grand Duke Gaspard de Chalons and a number of nobles loyal to him. At this time, the whereabouts of the Empress – or if she even still lives – are unknown."

Leliana's eyes had narrowed at the news. "Why was I not informed of this immediately?" she demanded, seeming ready to stalk out of the room and discover the answer to the question herself.

"Because I left very explicit instructions that your messengers were to report to me," Justinia replied, meeting the redhead's accusing gaze calmly until Leliana nodded in reluctant acquiescence. "Had you known, you could have done no more than what I have done: instruct them to be on the lookout for Celene and to notify us if any new information comes to light."

Talia speared a lone slice of beef with her fork, swiped it through the last of the gravy on her plate and put it in her mouth, chewing with a thoughtful expression. "So, he's declared open war on the Empress," she mused. "How much support does he have?"

"A great deal among the military," Leliana responded. "In particular, he is very popular with the chevaliers." She smiled slightly at the rude noise that escaped Talia, but her eyes remained serious. "He also enjoys support among the nobles who disagree with Celene's policies of diplomacy and cultural growth over conquest and expansion … most of whom were missing from last night's ball, along with Gaspard." She bit her lip, looking rueful. "I am sorry, Your Eminence," she apologized to Justinia. "I should have realized –"

"There were a few distractions last night," the Divine dismissed the attempt with a shake of her head, "and even had we known, the ambush had already taken place by the time the ball began."

"Do you think Gaspard had any part in the attack last night?" Talia asked, frowning slightly. "Convenient that he and his lackeys were out of harm's way."

"Too convenient," Leliana disagreed. "Gaspard detests The Game, and he lacks subtlety when he does play. It cannot be completely ruled out as yet, but I think it unlikely."

"Celene, then?" Talia suggested. "She arranged the ball, didn't she?"

"She did," Justinia confirmed, "but she is adept at The Game; even if she stood to gain from my death, she would never have attempted it at the palace. The attack was as much a strike at the authority and strength of the crown as it was at me."

"Except the crown wasn't there to be nearly roasted," Talia replied pointedly, though her nod acknowledged the validity of the Divine's reasoning. "So … too subtle for one, not subtle enough for another. What are the odds that it has nothing to do with Orlesian politics and everything is just going to shit at the same time?"

Leliana gave her lover a mildly reproving look at the vulgarity, but Justinia seemed unconcerned. "Rather high, I'm afraid," she sighed. "The mage was indeed from the White Spire: a senior enchanter named Jeannot Fournier, who was a prominent member of the Libertarian fraternity."

"And does the White Spire have an explanation as to how this Jeannot Fournier eluded the templars and gained entrance to an invitation-only ball at the Imperial Palace?" Leliana inquired with an edge to her voice.

"Is the White Spire a prison for mages, then?" Wynne kept her inquiry gentle, the reproof mild, but Leliana dropped her eyes in shame.

"I know not all mages are to blame for the acts of a few," she admitted, "but Kirkwall, then this … surely they understand the fear that such acts cause?"

"They understand that they are punished for crimes that they have not committed," Wynne replied. "After Kirkwall, mages in circles across Thedas found themselves forbidden to travel or to assemble. The Chantry has dissolved the College of Enchanters; many feel that their few liberties are being stripped away one by one, replaced with ever growing oppression."

"If you had not been there last night -" Leliana began, but Justinia interrupted her.

"She was there because she is one of the very few mages permitted by the Chantry to travel freely," the Divine reminded her. "The Chantry will never win the loyalty of the undecided mages by treating them as we do those who rebel against our authority. I regret my decision to dissolve the College of Enchanters, but it seemed the only prudent response to the rising unrest. Now, I may have a way to right some of the injustices that have been visited on the mages and perhaps convince some of them that the Chantry does have their best interests at heart. That is why Wynne is here."

"You flatter me, Your Eminence," Wynne replied as Talia and Leliana turned expectant eyes to her, "but I fear that you are also pinning too much hope on a slim possibility. First and foremost, I seek to save a friend, but even that may not be possible." At Justinia's nod of acknowledgment, she went on, addressing the two younger women now. "A dear friend of mine, Pharamond, has been performing research at Adamant Fortress in the Western Reaches."

"That belonged to the Grey Wardens, didn't it?" Talia asked, looking puzzled.

"I suppose that technically, it still does," Wynne confirmed, "but it was abandoned in the Blessed Age. It is isolated, with few inhabitants, and the Veil is very thin there, so it was considered an ideal location for Pharamond to conduct his research."

"What sort of research?" Leliana asked curiously. It was Justinia who answered.

"I wanted Pharamond to discover if a way could be found to reverse the Rite of Tranquility," the Divine explained, and her Left Hand regarded her in surprise.

"You never told me of this," she said, her tone faintly accusing.

"As Wynne has said, the chance was a slim one," Justinia replied calmly. "And it risked turning many against the Chantry if word of it got out, whether the attempt was successful or not."

"All the more reason that I should have known," Leliana countered, but Talia stilled her with a gentle hand on her arm.

"Has it been successful?" the Warden wanted to know.

"I cannot say with surety," the Divine replied, disquiet touching her features. "There has been a complication: Pharamond has become an abomination."

Talia leaned back in her chair, a scowl touching her lips. "That's a bit more than a complication," she told the Divine in a pointed tone that Wynne was willing to bet that Justinia heard from few others, "particularly for this Pharamond, wouldn't you say?"

"Talia -" Leliana looked torn between respect for her mentor and awareness that her lover was right, but Justinia simply nodded.

"It is," she agreed heavily, "but it should not have been possible. Pharamond is – was – Tranquil."

"The minds of the Tranquil cannot touch the Fade," Wynne explained in response to the confused expression on Talia's face. "They cannot commune with spirits or demons, and as a result, cannot be possessed; it was one of the reasons that Pharamond was chosen for the task."

"So if he became an abomination, then it worked?" Talia reasoned. "He's not Tranquil anymore?"

"That is not so easy to determine," Justinia replied, "nor would it be a viable solution, if reversing Tranquility always has this result. I wished to find a way to correct the abuses that have been made of the Rite in recent years. Tranquility is intended to be used only when a mage's power is so out of control as to pose a danger to themselves and others."

"Instead, it has been used as a punishment, and as a way to silence dissenters," Wynne put in sadly. "The abuse was at its worst in Kirkwall, but other circles have been little better. Most mages would rather be dead than Tranquil, and the Templars know it."

"So, your role in all this is?" Talia was watching her with a frown that suggested that she had already guessed.

"I intend to enter the Fade to battle the demon that has possessed Pharamond, as Morrigan did for Connor Guerrin," Wynne replied calmly.

"And you're letting her?" Talia snapped, glaring openly at the Divine now. "There's nobody else you can send?"

"No one I can trust," Justinia told her. "Only a mage may enter the Fade, and mages who trust the Chantry are rare at the moment. I do not intend that she go alone, however."

Leliana was already shaking her head, her expression a play of conflicting emotion. "Most Holy, I cannot. Those behind the attempt on your life must be found, and you must be protected until they are. Talia -" She glanced to her lover, who looked no less torn, but they were going to do it; that much was plain in the look that passed between them, and Wynne loved them the more for it, even though she wanted to give them both a good shake.

"No," she said firmly. "I'll not separate you again so soon, and the Divine's safety is paramount." That argument was not going to convince Talia, and Wynne played her hole card. "I have full confidence in Shayle's ability to protect me from physical dangers."

"Shayle?" The thunderclouds building in Talia's expression vanished. "She's here?"

"She remained at Adamant to monitor the situation," Wynne told her apologetically. "Once I realized what had happened, I wanted to ensure that it was not allowed to go beyond the fortress into the wider world. Shayle is immune to magic, and cannot be possessed by the denizens of the Fade."

"She's coming back with you when you're done, though?" There was a decidedly hopeful note to Talia's query that made Wynne smile. The Warden's fondness for her companions during the Blight had never waned, though the divergent paths that they had taken in subsequent years meant that reunions had been few and far between.

"She will," Wynne confirmed, gaining a smile from Talia and an expression of interest from Justinia. Few in Thedas could claim to have seen a functional golem, and fewer still one that retained its sentience; Shayle was the only one that Wynne knew of. "I came to Val Royeaux because I will require the assistance of other mages to enter the Fade to confront the demon."

"Like the Fereldan circle mages did for Morrigan." A shadow touched Talia's face as she spoke, gone too quickly for Wynne to decipher. The young witch had never been found after the battle in Denerim; so far as Wynne knew, she was presumed dead, though it would have been much like her to simply slip away. Talia had grieved for her then, but something besides sorrow had been in her expression just now. "How many?"

"Two should suffice, I think," Wynne replied. "There is one in particular that will be of great assistance. He is a very talented spirit medium, able to touch the Fade and communicate with its denizens. He is also my son," she added with quiet pride.

"You found him?" Leliana exclaimed, her delight echoed in Talia's face. "Wynne, that is wonderful!"

"After the Blight ended, I was told where he was," Wynne replied. "We met once, and I introduced myself. He has grown into a fine man, and a skilled enchanter. I … never went back." She ducked her head, feeling the flush of shame heat her cheeks. "None in the White Spire know that he is my son; I did not think it was fair to burden him with the expectations that might come with that."

"It might have been better for Rhys if he had your example of clear and calm thinking to follow." Justinia's voice was gentle, but her blue eyes were grave. "He is a prominent member of the Libertarian fraternity, and was a known associate of Jeannot Fournier … and last night, he was detained on suspicion of being the one responsible for the murders in the White Spire."

**Author's Note:**

> I forgot that I hadn't moved this over from ff.net. I started this while I was struggling with a block on the main story, I always knew how I wanted MIT to end, but getting there was a bear. 
> 
> Talia & Leli never really left my imagination, however, and DA:I got the muse moving again. This story will be a bridge of sorts, filling in the gaps between DA2 & Inquisition, mostly from a retrospective and abridged standpoint. Most of this story will focus on events that happened in the book 'DA: Asunder', with Talia added to the action. This isn't intended to be a long story, a few chapters, but muses sometimes get other ideas. There will likely be updates to 'A Dog's Life' and 'Stolen Moments', as well...just slowly. The busy life hasn't gotten much less busy, but I am starting to rebuild an actual schedule, which helps with writing.
> 
> (And as an aside, if you have not read the DA books, I'd recommend it. 'The Stolen Throne' & 'The Calling' were pretty lackluster IMO, but 'Asunder' and 'Masked Empire' were both good and deal with events and characters that figure prominently in Inquisition, adding new layers of depth when you play the game. 'Last Flight' was, I think, the best book of the lot, and I'm really hoping to see that incorporated into DA4 in some way).
> 
> While I enjoyed Inquisition, and thought they did a great job of bringing together the elements from games, books, graphic novels & all, some of the assumptions they had to make definitely didn't fit my vision of what my Warden and Champion would have done post-game.
> 
> I started this before I started Inquisition, so the mention of Haven was a happy coincidence. The Wiki states that the Sacred Ashes had vanished when the Chantry arrived, but to me, if that had been the case, I don't think the Chantry would have turned the site into the holy shrine that it did. They would have been much more likely to simply ignore it. Besides, I kinda liked the idea of the Gauntlet remaining active, humbling the high muckety-mucks of the Chantry who tried to reach the Ashes.
> 
> I'm not really gluing myself to BioWare's canon timeline, either, since it doesn't make sense to me that three years would elapse before the Chantry went looking for Hawke after the cluster in Kirkwall. The scene in this chapter takes place about 8 years after the events in Awakening and a year after Anders blows up the Kirkwall Chantry. Talia is about 27 years old, Leliana is 35.
> 
> This chapter felt a bit uneven to write; I was still trying to get a feel for who Talia has become and get past events laid out in my mind. Hopefully things will smooth out as I get back into the groove.


End file.
